The Elysian Fields
by katia1
Summary: NOW COMPLETE! An alternative universe Syd and Nigel hunt the ultimate relic in a world of Greek Gods, Roman armies, magic, dragons and very evil baddies!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimers: I don't own Relic Hunter, or any of the characters that were originally part of that series. I make no money out of my fiction writing, but please do not reproduce any of this st****ory without my permission. While elements of this story are based on the findings of historical research, severe liberties have been taken in the name of fiction and fantasy!**

**Writer's note: this is my contribution to the Relic Hunter Alternative Universe Fantasy Challenge. I hope you enjoy it! It will be rather more open 'epic' and explore darker themes - I know I always put on a 'T' rating, but this time I really mean it. Nevertheless, if you enjoyed my story 'Warrior Princess' you might well like this one.**

**If you're ****not**** into historical adventures and angst, I will be interspersing my posts of this story with some shorter, cuter canon stories and missing scenes! So please stick with me, and there will be something for everyone. Now on with the show...**

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T H E - E L Y S I A N - F I E L D S

By Katy

Book 1: Messenger of the Winter Goddess

_Camae, an island off the Apennine peninsular, 171 BC. _

_In their struggle for dominion over the ancient world, the power struggle between the Greeks and the Romans hangs in the balance. The Third Macedonian War rages in the east, and Sydney, Sybil of Camae, prophetess, earthly representative of the goddess Gaia - and secret Relic Hunter! - strives to protect her temple and the people of the Grecian island colony from the tyranny of Rome. She knows the prevailing winds fan the flames of Roman dominance and could bring about the destruction of all she holds dear. Can she do anything to save them? _

CHAPTER ONE

At the sight of the slaves, anger surged in her breast. Sydney wished she could cast aside her golden mask and demonstrate the true power of the goddess by hurling a flaming spear straight at Kafka's black heart.

As ever, she swallowed her fury. Yet she clenched so hard on the laurel branches, which she folded graciously across her chest, that it was a wonder that their plush, green leaves did not instantly wither and die.

'I, the Sybil, accept your offer to the temple, Kafka,' announced Sydney coldly, as she surveyed the shabby line of wretched human beings that the Roman was currently parading at the foot of the temple steps on which she stood. Each one was limping, thin, burnt by the pitiless sun, and aged beyond their years. 'But Gaia, Goddess of the Earth, disapproves of your treatment of these people. Cruelty, even to slaves, will bring down her wrath upon you, and on your house!'

The massive, battle-scared warrior, who towered monstrously over his 'offerings', barely contained a smirk. He raised his mutilated right arm - where a hideous, metal hook replaced a severed hand – up towards her in a mocking gesture of respect.

'I am sure I fear the goddess greatly and will adhere to her word,' he leered without a smudge of sincerity. 'But I would respect her even more if she would entrust this temple and her people to the protection of Rome. Less scrupulous men than I have gained knowledge of Gaia's riches and covet them much more. Moreover, in _my_ protection, her Sybil would not need to conceal her beauty under that soulless mask, and her exquisite little assistant need not cower and hide her loveliness.'

Sydney smiled, secretly and joylessly, beneath her gilded disguise. What a shock it would be, she mused, if this demon of a man found out that the shapely, raven-haired priestess he apparently desired was also an adventuress and relic hunter. Yes, the same relic hunter who had swiped an Etruscan statue of the prophetess, Caśntra, from destruction at his hands, after a death-defying chase into the caves of Etruria; the same adventuress who, on this very island, had severed his hand as she protected her people against his marauding slave-raiders.

Her blood boiled, however, as she saw this hated creature - his hooked-hand resting on the thick, metal-studded belt of a dark, leather tunic - predatorily surveying the delicate beauty and pale, exposed legs of the 'exquisite little assistant' in question. Claudia, youngest daughter of the governor of the Camaen colony was, indeed, 'cowering' half-behind the lustrously embroidered curtains that hung over the entrance to the temple atrium under the soaring, pillars of its facade. He grinned and his good hand fondled the hilt of his short-bladed sword.

'We ask neither for the protection of Rome, or of you!' she spat, motioning surreptitiously with an elbow that Claudia should hide herself completely. 'The goddess knows that you come to this island as a friend by day, yet rape her shores by night. She wishes you to go now, and never to return!'

A hum of wary voices drew Sydney's attention to the group of soldiers who had accompanied the Roman into the temple grounds, and who stood a little behind him amongst the temple's, neatly kept gardens that undulated benignly down to steep cliffs at the island's edge. The men's rusting, stained armour and weapons formed a stark juxtaposition against the vibrant blooms of the flower beds, the flawless blue sky and the shimmering, azure sea beyond. So did the shabby forms of two or three further slaves, who had not been 'offered' to the goddess, and whom they guarded.

Kafka's scornful expression darkened, aggravated by his men's nervousness. 'You speak ill of me,' he growled. 'I'm a politician, not a pirate – and no longer even a soldier! Surely the goddess knows fact from idle rumour? Nevertheless, my love of her, and my respect for her priestess, is too great for me to take offence. I will go now, but I will return in less than seven tide's time with another token of my devotion - and an offer of protection you will find it harder to refuse!'

'Gaia will never need your protection, and neither will I!'

Sydney turned, the tails of her cascading, light-blue robes swishing defiantly behind her. She stomped up the top few steps, under the colonnades and portico, and through the curtains into the cool, dimly-lit sanctity of the temple.

'Well done, Syd,' whispered Claudia, fear in her pretty, guileless expression diluting her usual vivaciousness. 'You showed that evil man that the goddess is not to be messed with!'

'I don't know,' sighed Sydney, unfastening the bejewelled clasps that pinned up her hair and slipping off the clammy, golden mask; it had felt particularly heavy that day. 'The goddess has needed a lot of help in recent years – although, you're right that she'll never need _him_...but, Claudia, I think I must receive Kafka alone next time he comes. I know you're supposed to attend me, but I hated the way he looked at your ankles - well, your whole legs really! That little, white robe is very brief for a temple intern…'

'But it's so pretty,' whined Claudia. 'I just love the pearl-encrusted shoulder clasps - they match my necklace and sandals! And you said you didn't mind what I wore!'

'I don't usually,' said Sydney, who eschewed all ceremony and ritual that was not absolutely essential to her role. 'But with _that_ man… well, never mind. Next time he won't see you.'

'I hated the way he looked at you too,' admitted Claudia, tripping off across the atrium towards the homely comforts of their living quarters, which lay to one side. 'He's so ugly, with that horrible hooked hand. Not like this young man I saw tended the goats at the marketplace this morning. Talk about divine! His torso was as finely sculpted as a statue of Apollo! I wonder what his name was? Maybe I'll go down tomorrow and see if I can talk to him… '

'Claudia!' Sydney gently caught her young assistant by her upper arm and swivelled her back to face her. 'You know you can't! You're a trainee priestess now. You can look but, in public at least, you can't talk to him and you must _never_ touch!'

'But you've been with many men,' pouted Claudia, dropping her voice to an undertone. 'You've told me about your adventures.'

'Yes, but I've learned to be subtle, and travel incognito. If you want to live a little, it's something you'll have to learn. But I can never let myself love a man - that I know. Like you, I would have to give him up, sacrifice him for the sake of the goddess. I would rather never love than be destroyed myself in such a way.'

Although she had told this to her assistant many times, Sydney still felt a pang as moisture welled up in Claudia's eyes. She slipped her hand down her friends arm until it caressed her petite fingers. 'At least we'll always have friendship,' she husked, suddenly choking back tears herself. She felt the younger woman's pain, her desire, her disappointment; Sydney knew them all as old companions.

'Come, we must be strong,' she smiled, squeezing and releasing Claudia's palm. 'Now, you go down to the sanatorium and make sure there are comfortable beds ready. Those poor slaves will need the kindest care after their treatment at the hands of Kafka. I only wish we could take all those poor wretched of his hands and grind that lowlife to the dust - he gives to us only those so ill and worn they are worthless to him. But I just don't have the manpower to fight him and his soldiers…'

Sydney broke off as loud scuffles and shouts filtered in from the temple steps.

Above the clamour, an anxious voice rang out: its accent was unfamiliar, but she understood the words loud and clear.

'I beg an audience with the Sybil! I have travelled from the north with a message for Gaia's priestess…'

The two women turned, startled, as a slightly-built, dark-haired young man burst through the curtains of the temple. His thigh-length cream tunic was dirty and torn. Crude metal shackles hung from one of his arms, the empty cuffs on the far-end apparently picked open.

The newcomer froze when he saw the two women on the other side of the chamber. As his gaze met Sydney's for the first time, alarm washed across her striking countenance and they both gasped silently – the Sybil was without her sacred mask! Instinct compelled her to slip it back on, although the desperate fear on his soft, handsome features touched the tenderest part of her soul.

Before a word could be spoken, however, the curtain was violated again. The mountainous figure of Kafka emerged and, revelling in a form of ecstatic anger, he viciously struck the other man - who was as a child to him in stature - across the side of his face. The victim crumpled instantly to the floor. Even as Claudia screamed in horror, Kafka followed up his initial blow with a kick to the stomach, a casual gesture on the big man's behalf, but delivered with some force.

Seeing the young man gasping for breath and his face reddening with pain, Kafka laughed maliciously. He was about to repeat the act when a large, bronze, ornately decorated vase impacted on his own middle, sending him staggering backward.

'Violence within the realms of the temple is a crime punishable by death,' seethed Sydney. Having swung the vessel - the only thing she had to hand - with all her might, she was now all but ready to cast off the mask and sever her enemy's other hand. If only she had a sword!

Kafka, although surprised at the Sybil's physical exertion, merely snorted. 'If violence is forbidden, what are you doing with that vase? Besides, I was doing you a favour, oh great prophetess. This slave of mine - who is _not_ part of my 'offering' to you - was trying to escape, probably with the intent to robbing your temple.' His focus wandered covetously over Sydney's curves and then over the porcelain limbs of Claudia, who trembled behind a pillar. 'And there are _many_ treasures to be plucked!'

'Get out!' spat Sydney, casting aside the vase and crouching down. She placing a hand on the boy's shoulder as he lay on his side – it was some comfort, she hoped, as he struggled to regain his puff.

'I'm going, dear Sybil,' growled Kafka. 'And I'll take my property with me!'

In an alarmingly swift movement, he seized the young man's un-tethered arm, hauled him up effortlessly and, while the boy still floundered for a foothold, began dragging him back through the curtain.

'No!'

Through lack of a better plan, Sydney seized the chain which dangled from the slave's other wrist and yanked him back towards her so she was stretched between them like the rope in a tug-of-war. She winced apologetically as the shackles bit into already wounded, raw skin but the gaze that met hers was far from resentful. Her intervention gave the boy a chance to regain both his standing and wits. Before anybody else could speak, he shouted again: 'I beg the protection of the Earth Goddess, Gaia! I'm not a slave, my name is Nigel, and I have a message from my aunt, high priestess to Moreana, Goddess of Winter, that I beseech you to interpret…'

'One more word out of you, slave,' said Kafka matter-of-factly, tugging Nigel towards him and piercing the cruel, metal hook through the back of his collar, 'and I will _personally_ administer such a punishment that you'll wish that you'd never been born.'

'I'm not a slave!' yelled Nigel again, wriggling with such suddenness that he ripped his clothing free, but not his arm. He glared up into Kafka's face, his chin set firm even though he shook with anger and trepidation. 'I'm a princeling of the house of Hedenwulf, and I demand the protection of Gaia!'

'You've got it!' interjected Sydney, keeping a firm grip on her end of the chain. 'Kafka, this man is now a supplicant, under the Goddess's protection.'

A muscle twitched with irritation in Kafka's long, angular jaw: 'I thought the temple only fulfilled the requests of applicants of status, who frame their questions rightly and approach the temple with ceremony and offering. This boy tore through the curtain like a stray puppy! I picked him up from the gutter of Neopolis and it is obvious he is from nothing but a tribe of savages.'

'I decide who is a proper supplicant,' stated Sydney plainly. 'If he is taken from the temple, or one hair on his head is harmed, Gaia will destroy you!'

'Through what means?' demanded Kafka.

'Me!'

As she delivered this word, a passion jolted through Sydney's body of such magnitude that even Kafka discerned it, although he could not see her livid face under the anonymous, placid mask.

The opposing parties thought as one: 'It must be the Goddess. She really is angered…' Nigel, wondering if feeling would ever return to his numb arm once Kafka released his iron hold on his wrist, looked anxiously between the two.

But the battle was won. Kafka shoved Nigel violently in the direction of the Sybil, and he found himself stumbling forward onto his hands and knees.

'I will go,' muttered Kafka, his tone is dripping with threat. 'But I will be back within seven tides and I will have _my property_, Goddess or no - and anything else that I please to take!'

He stalked off through the curtains, and trampled through the radiant, sun-drenched gardens, noting as he went that a distinctive, long-legged statue of the prophetess Caśntra was among the many decorous treasures on display.

……………………

The three occupants of the temple atrium were left staring between each other, shaken and momentarily wordless.

Nigel, on his knees, broke the silence: 'I beg the protection of the Goddess,' he mumbled. 'I'm a princeling from the kingdom of Hedenwulf…'

But his voice faded to nothing as the adrenalin that had fuelled his previous exertions dwindled. He slumped, unconscious towards the floor.

Sydney, who had already started towards him, cast down the chain and caught him in her arms before his head struck the stone floor.

Claudia hurried over, pink cheeks streaked with tears. 'Oh, Sydney - the poor thing! He's not… he's not dead?'

'No,' she replied quickly. Cradling Nigel against her breast, she could feel the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, the steadying beat of his heart. 'He's alive, but who knows what he has been through at the hands of that monster.'

It was clearer than ever why Kafka had been so unwilling to let Nigel go: a slave this beautiful would be desirable to men and women, and fetch a fine price - or be a fine prize to be kept. As Sydney peered down into his face, however, she became increasingly anxious for him. Nigel looked pale now, apart from the scarlet bruise that swelled on the side of his cheek where Kafka had struck him; his delicately moulded features appeared almost angelic, although his lips moved restlessly as he continued to mutter something about Sybil's, northern kingdom's and prophecies.

A little moan escaped from the back of his throat as she ran her fingers over his forehead: it was warm and clammy - a little _too_ warm she felt. She feared it was the early signs of a fever.

'He's very handsome,' whispered Claudia. Sydney silently agreed, but hushed: 'We must not think of that. Pick up his legs. You will help me carry him to our quarters.'

Claudia's jaw dropped. '_Our_ quarters?' she squeaked, unable to conceal her excitement. 'But… but he's a man! A _gorgeous_ man - and what was all that stuff you were telling me earlier about 'look but don't touch?''

'He's a supplicant,' retaliated Sydney, trying to sound authoritative. 'He is, uh, under my protection.'

'Yes, but those under your protection usually go to the sanatorium…'

'Don't argue, Claudia. Just do it!'

Claudia nodded and silently obeyed, straining to lift Nigel's legs and letting Sydney take most of the weight of his body.

As they staggered towards their quarters, Sydney felt compelled to answer her assistant's questioning gape: 'He mentioned the Goddess of Winter,' she explained abruptly. 'She is not well among our known God's but there _is_ a prophecy that tells of a messenger from a Goddess of Winter, and its an important one. However, I don't have everything I need to interpret it. I'll have to go on a relic hunt…'

She broke off to carefully lay Nigel on the soft, feather mattress and pillow of her own lushly draped, pure-white bed. Perching herself beside him, she brushed back his hair, anxiously scrutinising her patient for any change. She spoke very softly.

'If what I remember is right he _must_ get well. I need to know the exact words of his priestess and the messenger himself is part of the prophecy.' Tearing her focus away from him only for a second, she darted a look at her friend. 'Please can you fetch me some lavender water and a sponge? He is so essential that I will care for him myself.'

Claudia scuttled off, leaving Sydney alone with her charge for the first time. He had stopped raving now, and seemed more relaxed - rendering his features, if anything, even more appealing. But he was still warm - too warm. His breath seemed shallow and little droplets of sweat had gathered on his forehead.

'Please live,' she pleaded. Her voice cracking in a dry, thickening throat as the strangest of feelings swept over her again. She suddenly realised that her desire that this stranger should survive flamed more ardently than any other passion she had know - even her love for the Goddess.

Yet, what was he to her - other than a help on her forthcoming relic hunt? In terms of looks, he was far from the vain, muscled Adonis's she usually passed time with on her anonymous travels. Indeed, he looked so boyish and fragile right now that she scolded herself that she could never desire him in _that_ way. She conjectured that he was several years younger than her - probably only a little older than Claudia, who had seen less than twenty summers. It all seemed ridiculous.

Her own words to her assistant resonated around her mind: 'I can never let myself love a man - I would have to give him up, sacrifice him for the sake of the goddess. I would rather never love than be destroyed myself in such a way.'

She cast aside her mask and laid her head down next to his so their cheeks almost touched; her tumbling, silken locks mingled with Nigel's shorter, chestnut hair on the pristine pillow. Sydney sighed deeply, gathering in her senses, and she wondered what it all meant. Could this sleeping man hold the key to the greatest prophecy she would ever interpret?

Or could this be the start of her path to oblivion?

**Thanks for reading. ****If you want to know what happens next, please review and I'll try and update soon.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for those reviews. This website seems to dislike me at the moment as no alert went out on the first chapter of this story. So if you've just got an alert, and are wondering what the earth this is about, sorry about that. There's a big explanation on the previous chapter ;)**

**Warning: lots of angst!**

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CHAPTER TWO

Claudia paused before she entered the chamber, and peeped in curiously between the heavily embroidered drapes.

Her flawless brow creased with confusion, and with a hint of ambiguous jealousy. Sydney was still there, holding vigil by Nigel's bed. She had hardly left his side for the whole day since he'd burst, so unceremoniously, into their lives. Now she had one of his hands clasped between hers; her head was bowed and her eyes tightly shut, as if she was in silent communion with the goddess. The Sybil's mask lay, discarded, on the floor at her feet.

Claudia had never before seen her mistress – also her best friend - so adamant that anybody _must_ live. Yes, Sydney would always go to the sanatorium to visit the sick, and share her energy and inspiration with all who would listen - and a few who would not. But while she knew the name of everybody in the temple, she'd never become quite so intimately involved with any individual before, supplicant or patient - and nobody but Claudia _ever_ saw her face! The blonde assistant could not help wonder whether Sydney's passion had anything to do with the fact that this newcomer was disarmingly good looking.

'So much for look and don't touch,' she thought to herself. 'And when he wakes up he will see her face, and fall in love - and she with him, if she hasn't already done so! And then what will become of everything? And what will become of me? I wish I'd run away with that 'to-die-for' goatherd!'

As these unhappy thoughts whirled around her head, she crept silently into the room; even Sydney did not appear to sense her presence until she was nearly to the bed - something which further alarmed Claudia. Then the Sybil looked up suddenly and smiled warmly.

'Did you bring those for Nigel?' asked Sydney, her voice affectionate but tired, as she motioned at a flimsy bunch of pink flowers that were clutched in Claudia's hand.

'Uh, yes,' replied Claudia, who had completely forgot she was carrying the flowers. 'I'll get a vase.'

She was already leaving the room again when Sydney asked: 'And the herbs? Did you find what I needed?'

Claudia chewed her bottom lip as she turned back slowly: 'I couldn't find the right ones! The names were too long to remember, and they all look the same at twilight… so I got the flowers instead. They are so much prettier than those boring, smelly green things. They'd make me feel much better…'

'Claudia! Flowers are nice, but they won't make him well!' Sydney tried her best not to snap; she knew that Claudia always did her best, in her own fashion - and it was hard, after her indulged childhood, to learn the strange ways of the temple. 'Look… I'll draw some pictures this time, rather than writing down the names. Will you try again?'

Claudia pouted sulkily: 'But it's getting cold out there and it's so quiet in the garden. I kept on thinking that horrid Kafka was going to creep up behind and slit my throat with his nasty hook… can't you go? I'll look after…him…'

'No, I'm sorry,' replied Sydney resolutely. 'If you're scared, maybe you could get one of the temple guards to go with you? I can't leave Nigel's side in case he starts talking again.'

'Why do you need to hear him talking?' whined Claudia, scrunching her nose objectionably. 'Surely he's just raving deliriously?'

A little smile – and a hint of excitement - glimmered across Sydney's face as she glanced back down at Nigel. 'I thought so myself at first. But then, when I listened, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He's been reciting a perfect hexameter - the language of Homer, of Phemonoe herself - handed down by the Gods!'

'You mean that funny versey stuff?'

'Yes, Claudia,' laughed Sydney softly. 'That 'funny versey stuff!' Look, I've written it down. I think it must be his aunt's message. The first two lines run like this:

'_The tide will rise over cliffs and the land;_

_and sun-blessed yields will crumble to dust and dry sand.'_

'What does it all mean?' asked Claudia, bewildered.

'I'm not sure yet,' replied Sydney. 'But the prophecy I know regarding the messenger from the Winter Goddess is a very powerful one - he may hold the key to the future of this island, maybe even of the whole world.'

'It's quite, uh, big, then?'

'Yes, big!'

Sydney's attention was snatched away as Nigel stirred. His head shifted slightly on the pillow and he murmured something, but too weakly now for her to hear.

'Ssshhh, everything will be all right,' soothed Sydney, stroking his hair. 'Tell me later, tell me when you're well.'

Nigel squirmed restlessly, rolling towards her onto his side; his lips parted as he muttered inaudibly and Claudia could not help but stare at his perfect profile, silhouetted against the pillow. Sydney was otherwise preoccupied: his skin was damp with perspiration and she could feel the heat radiating from him.

'Claudia,' she hissed. 'Bring me the sponge. His fever still burns and I must try to cool him down.'

Claudia handed it to her, but did not rip away her eyes from beautiful, suffering young man. The Sybil wrung out the sponge and stripped down the coverlet so the whole of his upper body was exposed. She then began bathing his forehead, chest and his arms, all the while leaning close over him, whispering words of reassurance.

The blonde assistant was enthralled. While Nigel was not as explicitly muscular as her coveted goatherd, his torso was smooth, toned and just as appealing. His flesh seemed to glisten in the dusky glow of the oil lamps. She tried not to notice the ugly, purple bruise at the bottom of his ribs, the grazing around his wrists, and the barely-healed red welts that scarred his back and shoulders - tell-tale signs of a recent, cruel beating. To her, he was a gentle, artistic, vulnerable Apollo – but an Apollo nevertheless! Despite his desperate condition, her desire to touch him was irrepressible and she sidled to Sydney's shoulder.

'May I help?'

'It's not necessary. Look, he's calmer now.' The cooling water had, indeed, had a positive effect, and Nigel was now sleeping peacefully. In the corner of her eye, Sydney discerned Claudia purse her glossy, painted lips with irritation, and mentally noted the reaction. She handed the sponge back to the girl, then picked up Nigel's hand again.

'Look,' she whispered, running her fingertips over a soft, unblemished palm. 'This is proof enough that he is not a slave. These hands have never performed hard-labour, apart from…' She paused as she located a rough patch of skin on the inside of one of his middle fingers. 'Apart from this, a mark that I share. He _writes_ – he's a prince _and_ a scholar.'

Claudia shrugged stroppily: 'We don't _know_ that he's a prince! Even you said you've never heard of the kingdom he hails from… and, just because he writes, doesn't mean that he's a scholar. We don't even know he understands our language. I mean, yes, he's been saying all those clever wordy things, but I haven't got a clue what any of those boring lines you make me learn and recite mean…oh!'

Claudia raised her finger to her lips and swiftly regretted her unguarded confession, but Sydney sighed indulgently. 'Oh Claudia, never mind about that now! He does understand what he says - I just know it - and a lot more besides. He is going to be a great help to me.' Jealous eyes followed her movements as she placed Nigel's hand back down, pulled up the coverlet, and then pressed on the veins of his wrists, checking the pulse.

'I know it's hard,' she hushed. 'And I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong. I have no interest in him, apart from as an important supplicant who must get well - and, of course, that he is very young and does not deserve to die. But even if things were different, he is not the sort of man that I usually, well… we'll chat about this later. What matters now is that he hasn't turned the corner in his illness yet, and I can't leave his side.'

'I'm sorry…you know I'm always here for you, Syd,' came the meek, almost guilty reply. Deep in their hearts, neither woman was _quite_ convinced by Sydney's argument.

The Sybil rose, and this time it was her blonde friend's hand that she took and squeezed: 'So, how about you go to speak to one of the guards nicely, and go find me those herbs?'

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Shining scarlet drapes hung from the ceiling, undulating serenely in the air like waves on a fair-weather sea. On the walls, cavorting nymphs wove their way between the sturdy legs of muscular warriors, winged horses, and chariots of gold. But it was not any of these wonders, or the green marble pillars, which caused Nigel to inhale sharply and squeeze shut his eyes the instant after he had opened them. It was not even the sheer size and opulence of the bed on which he lay.

It was the woman - or the apparition of one.

Dressed in the briefest of fine, silk chitons, she was lying beside him, her chest brushing up against his shoulder. One svelte, bronzed arm was draped lightly across his middle. The woman was apparently fast asleep - steady, warm breath escaped from full, moist lips. Her small, rounded nose was of such charm that he felt a sudden urge - one that he dare not obey - to kiss it.

One glimpse, then, was enough for Nigel to close his eyes and resign himself to the matter that death had claimed him and carried him away to the Summerlands.

His mind was swimming and confused, but he tried to think rationally: had he succeeded in his mission or had he failed? He had no recollection of succeeding, so why would the gods accept him into their heavens? Maybe it was all a mirage…

Very cautiously, he pried one eye open again and tried to lift his hand to touch her hair. This was more difficult than he expected - his arm felt as if it was weighed down by lead. He suddenly became very aware of just how weak and shivery he felt and of bruises and welts that stung his back, shoulders and ribs. Somehow, though, he found the strength to touch her hair, lightly stroking the silky, dark spirals that embellished the pillow between them.

One word escaped his lips: 'Goddess…'

Long dark lashes flicked open like a whip, and her eyes, shimmering ebony pools, bored into his foggy consciousness. One of her hands pinned his effortlessly to the pillow, and the other raised as if to strike him. Nigel gasped – what wrath had he awoken?

Then she laughed. 'Nigel! I'm so sorry - I didn't know you were awake and you startled me. How are you?' She propped herself up on one elbow and placed the back of her hand against his forehead. 'The fever is still gone, that's good.'

'Goddess?' repeated Nigel, this time less certainly. He could not recall why this paragon of loveliness knew his name, but events at the door of the temple were beginning to trickle back into his brain. Nevertheless, he felt utterly drained, devoid of the energy to even sit up.

'You're not dead, if that's what you're wondering,' laughed Sydney kindly. 'This isn't the Summerlands or wherever it was you were chattering about earlier. Incidentally, where exactly _is_ the Summerlands? I'm guessing it might be the same place as our Elysian Fields?'

Nigel just stared at her.

She ruffled his hair fondly: 'You're a lot quieter when you're awake and when you're asleep, you know? But there will be plenty of time for talking when you're feeling stronger. For now, I think it would be a good idea if you had something to drink.'

Sydney rose and fetched a silver wine goblet from the top of a green marble cabinet. Concentrated puzzlement was etched into Nigel's expression as he tried to piece everything together.

'What do you remember?' she asked as she perched back down on the edge of the bed.

Nigel frowned and raised an unsteady hand to touch the bridge of his nose. 'I…I… remember being captured by that brute in Neapolis…and believing that I would surely die and never make it to the temple. And then…then… we set to sea, it was…unspeakable…but then I realised where we were going I couldn't believe it. I knew I had to escape, to speak to the Sybil…and then…then…'

His arm flopped back down onto the bed as his eyes widened with realisation: 'You! You're the Sybil! I…I saw you… but its impossible…'

'Yes, that's right, I'm the Sybil.' Nigel continued to look awestruck, so she laughed airily. 'I am the Sybil, the prophetess, the representative of the Goddess Gaia on earth - but that's just my day job. I'm also a woman of flesh and blood. Try to forget about all that for now, and drink this.'

She cupped her hand around the back of his neck, easing him forward and then pressed the goblet to his mouth. Nigel duly took a sip, wondering which prospect terrified him more: being attended to by the Sybil herself, or by such a beautiful woman of flesh and blood!

He was distracted, however, by the thick and tinglingly sweet liquid that oozed down his throat like warm honey. He took two more enthusiastic gulps before she withdrew the remainder.

Nigel licked his lips, surprised by his appetite: 'Mmmm. What was that?'

Sydney beamed: 'Nectar! Food of the gods… well, not quite. Its little secret recipe I make myself - in fact, it's the _only_ beverage I make myself - and I thought it would perk you up a bit.' She slipped her hand over his, but he tautened and looked at her questioningly, suspiciously even. It was a stark reminder that, whatever uncommon bond she already felt with this young man, they were little more than strangers. She moved her hand away and he looked up at her nervously, finding there was one question that really burnt him:

'Why were you asleep here? Don't you have less important people to run the sanatorium and, uh, I know everything here is amazing, but isn't this room a little bit grand for the purpose?'

Sydney laughed out loud: 'This is my bedroom!'

'Oh!' Nigel wriggled awkwardly. 'So, this is your, err, bed?'

'Yes, nice isn't it?'

'Lovely.' Nigel would also dearly have liked to know quite what he was doing there, and why she wasn't wearing her sacred mask, but was nevertheless grateful when she changed the subject:

'Now I have a little question for you: do you feel ready to tell me about the prophecy? About the Winter Goddess?'

Nigel nodded slowly. 'Yes. That _is_ the reason I'm here and I wish to return to my people with the answer as soon as I can. My aunt is the high-priestess of the temple of the Goddess Moreana - although our prophets, like our temples and even our Gods, are far humbler than yours! At the last midwinter solstice, my aunt received a message, a prophecy from Moreana herself. Yet nobody, not even our greatest scholars, could make any sense of it other than as a harbinger of doom and of the destruction of our people. Many spoke against my aunt, and it was felt the power of the temple should be taken from her. But she believed it meant something even greater, something we could not understand alone…and so did I.'

'So you traveled all this way, for little old me to interpret it?' Sydney's eyes danced playfully, confusing Nigel further.

'Uh, yes. For the Earth Goddess, Gaia, the mother of the season's to explain – via her prophetess.' He averted his gaze from Sydney's flirtatiousness and tried to focus on the beauties of the lavish bedchamber.

Sydney checked herself: 'Of course. And was it your aunt who wrote the hexameter?'

Nigel sat bolt upright in alarm: 'Of course - the hexameter – he took it! Did you get it back off Kafka, please tell me that you did!'

'Whoa there, be careful - you've been very sick!' She eased him back down onto the pillows as he stared at her, pleadingly.

'You know about it, so you must have it, right?'

'No, I don't have it,' she said plainly. 'I didn't even know it existed. But I don't think it's necessary, Nigel. You had it all in your head.'

'Yes, but… excuse me? How did you know that?'

She laughed, familiarly again: 'As I said, you're a lot more vocal when you're asleep than when you're awake! Although I'm starting to realise you have a lot to say for yourself in both states of being…'

'You mean I was reciting it when I was asleep?' A tiny motion of her sparkling eyes confirmed his suspicions, and Nigel groaned. 'Oh, how embarrassing!'

'Not at all,' soothed Sydney, pulling the coverlet back up over his chest but resisting the urge to touch him again. 'It is very impressive that you remembered it at all. Did you copy it out yourself?'

'Actually, although the meanings are my aunt's prophecy, it was I who translated it into your language and into hexameter form.' For the first time, there was a touch of pride in Nigel's voice. 'I did it so you would take me seriously as a supplicant. And because I, err, enjoyed it.'

'That's very impressive,' gushed Sydney. 'You could teach my assistant a few things about learning…'

Reaching under the bed, she retrieved three sheets of papyrus, scrawled in her own, rather messy hand, and showed them excitedly to him. 'Look, this is what you were saying. I've already had a chance to start interpreting. Your prophecy tells of a change in the prevailing wind; a turning of the tides; a catastrophic shift in the climate that lays waste to crops, and sickens the animals. It also speaks of the offering that must be made to Gaia for her guidance on what must be done – a rafter from the shelter of the Hesperides. Do you know what this is?'

Nigel winced regretfully: 'No. My people are not well versed in the many gods of the southern peoples. We worship only the earth goddess and her daughters, the seasons. But my aunt is a great scholar, who has learned all she could from traders and travelers. She paid a great price for manuscripts - so that my brother and I could learn the languages and knowledge of your glorious people. But… I'm afraid there is still much I must learn.'

'Not even my priests know much of the Hesperides,' smiled Sydney. 'I would not call your lack of knowledge there a sign of ignorance! They are the nymphs that guard the tree of life and their rafters are its golden branches. But - here is the most valuable part of your prophecy of all – it tells where the tree of life is hidden! It describes seven small hills beyond mountains, a little valley between, a river, a spring and a winding path… it provides all but a map!'

She handed the scroll to Nigel who cast his eyes over the three pages. 'Is this all you remember?' she asked.

'Yes, this is it all. I've forgotten nothing, I promise. But, as I said, I had it written down before, on a scroll and Kafka took everything I had.' Another of Nigel's memories flooded back, bringing with it a desolate fear did his best to conceal: 'I know it interested him, I heard him say something about a treasure map. Now _he_ will be after the golden branch!'

'I'll get it first. He doesn't scare me!'

'Well, he does me!' replied Nigel bitterly. 'I'd hate to be responsible for him lurking somewhere where you have to go. He's…he's… despicable!'

Guilt stabbed Sydney that she had dismissed Kafka so lightly. Instinctively, she laid a hand on his shoulder: 'I'm sorry. I know he hurt you yesterday. Was it he that treated you badly before?'

'Yes…' began Nigel, but then wriggled irritably to free his shoulder. 'No…no, it wasn't him but that hardly matters now, does it? All that concerns me that when you go to retrieve the relic, that beast will be waiting there with his army!'

'His army?'

'Yes…err, didn't you know? He has many thousands of men under his command, camped outside the city of Neapolis. They only arrived two days ago, I believe…'

Sydney was silent as she processed the information. Kafka had an army! She knew he was a former General, but had truly believed he was now just a rogue trader, a pirate - a pest, but no real threat. Nigel read her consternation, and sighed.

'I had better go back empty-handed, then. I can't ask you to take such a risk for me, for my people.'

Sydney shook her head adamantly, and mustered a smile: 'No. I can handle him!'

'You'd face him for me?' queried Nigel, more incredulous than grateful.

'I might,' she replied enigmatically. 'But I'm afraid this prophecy is not just about a little kingdom that nobody has heard of on the edge of the known world - no offence.'

'None taken,' sniffed Nigel, ever so slightly affronted.

'Good, because there is another, greater prophecy, passed down from Gaia herself to the first of the Sybils on this island, that speaks of the messenger of Winter goddess - who, it seems, is you! And I'm afraid it tells that you and I hold in our palms the fates not of only your kingdom, but of this island and every dominion under the sun.'

Nigel stared at her. 'I…uh…oh!'

She grinned and rose, unable to resist brushing the side of his cheek with her thumb: 'Maybe that's enough for now, eh? You need to rest while you can, Nigel, because you and I are going on a little adventure…'

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimers: as before. I don't own Relic Hunter, but please do not reproduce any of this story without my permission.**

**Thank you so much to everybody who has reviewed. It means a lot to me.**

**Warning: Very angsty, dark themes.**

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CHAPTER THREE

'Nigel – I've got it!'

Sydney dashed into the bedchamber, her smile as bright as the morning sunshine that flooded in through its open windows.

'Got what, Syd?' chirped Claudia, jumping up from where she sat on the edge of the bed. In doing so, she sent flying a selection of game tiles that Nigel had carefully arranged on the coverlet in front of him.

He puffed irritatedly. 'Now look what you've done! I was about to win!'

'Yes, of course you were - you win every time, slaveboy! It's a silly game anyway. I can't tell all the symbols apart…'

'But there are only two: 0's and X's! And I'm not a slave! I find that a rather offensive term.'

'Whatever you say,' pouted Claudia. 'They're stupid symbols and it's a boring game!'

'Uh, hello?' interrupted Sydney. 'Is anybody interested in anything I've found? And Claudia - it isn't kind to call Nigel a slaveboy!'

'But I've never heard of his kingdom! I'm sure he's made it up…'

'I have not!'

'Claudia, there's a lot about this world you haven't heard of…'

'Yes!' humphed Nigel. 'It seems that knowledge, like games and manners, isn't Claudia's strength.'

'She has many strengths - but maybe knowledge of distant lands isn't one of them,' soothed Sydney in a conciliatory tone, wondering at how quickly these two had come to squabble like siblings. 'Claudia - apologise to Nigel for calling him a slaveboy and Nigel, try to be patient with her.'

Claudia folded her arms and glared at both of them for a moment, before her anger quelled a little. 'Sorry, Nigel,' she muttered with a sigh: 'I'm sure you're a prince of a beautiful kingdom - somewhere! And I do believe you when you say that your aunt is a high priestess, your uncle is the king, and your stepbrother will be king someday too. Really I do.'

Nigel, not really wishing to offend either of his hostesses, offered lopsided smile in return: 'I'm sorry too. I'm sure you have a vast knowledge of many things, and I suppose I was a little grumpy. I'm just bored of being in this stupid bed.'

'Well, we're going to have to get you out of it quickly, then!' Sydney grinned, sweeping away the last of the bad atmosphere by unravelling a large, tattered brown scroll in her hand and flattening it out on the bedclothes. She pointed to a distinctive formulation of little hills and a winding river. 'After two days pouring over every description and map of the known world, I think I've found what we're looking for. The landscape matches the description in Nigel's prophecy exactly. The best news is that it is part of the Artemian wilderness beyond Neapolis. If we set sail for the mainland tomorrow, we can be there in two or three days. It's a hard, and possibly dangerous journey, but not a long one.'

'But it's impossible to leave now!' countered Nigel. 'It's nearly three days since Kafka departed, and we'll never make it back within his seven tides. Surely you can't leave the island at his mercy?'

'I don't intend to,' said Sydney plainly. 'I know that man. I think that his little promise to me will be overruled by the prospect of treasure - but he would not be able to interpret what and where the treasure is from the scroll alone. In fact, he will have to go to another Sybil and ask for advice - something that will pain him greatly. He hates the cult of the prophetess and has striven to destroy it where possible, one of the _many_ reasons I'm so wary of his offers of 'protection'.

'So how long do you think we have?'

'He will have to travel to Etruria to meet the oracle at Tiburtine. Sadly, she is now old and weak, and I'm sure she will help him with little persuasion, but the journey there is at least three days from Neapolis. I think we have a week to get the relic, get back, and be ready to defend the island.'

Nigel and Claudia shared a wary look, united in their misgivings: 'It's still cutting things a bit fine,' said Nigel. 'And how do we know we can just march up to this tree of life and snap a branch off. It may be defended - by an army, a dragon or anything!'

'What's a dragon?' asked Claudia.

'A massive winged beast that breaths fire and eats people,' replied Nigel with a shudder. 'I've never seen one but… um... I've heard tales and I'm sure they're true. The bad ones usually are!'

'Ew,' winced Claudia. 'What if there's a dragon, Syd?'

Sydney shrugged: 'I'll consult the books of Sibylline prophecy to see if they say anything about it. There _is_ bound to be traps or something, but I'm sure it's nothing I can't handle.'

'You do this sort of thing often?' enquired Nigel.

'She does,' grinned Claudia proudly. 'That's why Sydney is the best Sybil of all! Whenever she needs an offering, or a sacred relic to make sense of a prophecy, she just goes and finds it herself! And if she hears that an important relic is under threat, she retrieves it and brings it here for the protection of Gaia.'

'You do this alone? Without protection or aid?'

Claudia giggled: 'You'll see! Sydney doesn't need help. She could probably take out a whole army.'

'Thanks Claudia,' interrupted Sydney, 'but I think you overestimate my powers just a little. I can take care of myself but I've had a few close escapes, I promise you that. And this is going to be one of my most dangerous journeys, Nigel. I have to be sure that you're ready.'

'I can't say I'm relishing taking on a whole army,' admitted Nigel.' But I can't wait to get out of this bed. Do we start today?'

'No, tomorrow,' replied Sydney, who was secretly amazed that Nigel had made such a swift recovery. All the other slaves who had been brought in with the fever were still desperately ill, and two had died. Reminding herself of this, she added: 'I think you need another good night's rest and, uh, a bath!'

Nigel screwed up his nose indignantly: 'Are you suggesting that I smell?'

'Not at all,' laughed Sydney. 'I've sponged you down enough times to be sure you're quite clean. But the bath would have healing qualities that I think you would benefit from, and I have a wonderful plunge pool in the adjoining chamber. Claudia, can you go and ask one of the servants to fill it, bring some salts and lotions, and then…'

She motioned with her eyebrows that Claudia should make herself scarce. Claudia pursed her lips stroppily, but understood well enough. Sydney wanted to be alone with Nigel - again. And this time she was going to get naked with him…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'I'm quite well enough to bath myself,' insisted Nigel, as he rose from the bed, dodging out of the way of Sydney's steadying hand. Feeling a little giddy, he supported himself with a hand on the bedpost until the room stopped spinning, and then started, as swiftly as he could, in the direction of the bathhouse: 'So if you'll just give me a few minutes…'

'There's absolutely no way I'm going to let you bath yourself,' said Sydney plainly and grabbed hold of Nigel's arm, regardless of whether he liked it or not. 'You've been very ill. You could slip and drown, or anything. And it's not like I haven't seen you naked already!'

Nigel blushed a deep shade of pink, the most colour she'd seen on his cheeks - apart from the bruise - since he'd thrown himself on her 'protection': 'Well, its not like I had much choice _then_,' he mumbled, 'but now that I'm actually conscious, I'm not sure I could bear it.'

Sydney was a little bewildered: 'But why? You have a beautiful body, and it's not like I won't be naked too.'

'You'll be naked too?' stuttered Nigel. 'Oh, please, no. It just wouldn't be right!'

'Why in Gaia's name not? Do you bathe with clothes on in your kingdom?'

Nigel, suddenly feeling even more drained of energy, flopped down into a wicker chair: 'No, of course we don't. But for a man and woman – an, uh, unattached man and woman - to bathe together naked would be, well, frowned upon. And I wouldn't feel… comfortable.'

'Oh Nigel!' Sydney hauled him out of the seat and bundled him in the direction of the bath before he had time to protest. 'In this case, you mustn't think of me as a woman. I'm your nurse and, of course, the Sybil. The love of a man is forbidden to me by my position, so I'm sure I can resist the temptations of your flesh, lovely although it is.'

'Good for you,' moaned Nigel. 'But, as you said yourself, you _are_ a woman of flesh and blood as well! You can hardly expect me to not, um, notice…'

'Notice all you like. I don't mind.' She started fiddling with the shoulder clasps on his brief, white chiton. 'Once we've got to know each other a little better, you'll get used to…'

Sydney trailed off as Nigel pulled himself out of her grip and turned to face her, decidedly grumpy. 'Look, I may have come asking for your protection, but I'm not your slave and I don't have to do this! In fact, in fact… I won't!'

Sydney was a little surprised by the strength of his resistance: 'Uh, sorry that I pressured you. No, I won't force you to do anything. But I really think a bath would help - I've poured in all sorts of healing herbs.'

Nigel sighed heavily: 'I'm sorry. Maybe we just do things differently where I come from… but I don't like, err, exposing myself in such a way…particularly after…' He trailed off and then added: 'I suppose that in this warmer climate it's rather more natural to, uh, wear less.'

'Clothes are optional here, that's for sure,' laughed Sydney. 'Look, how about I go away, just for a moment, and you climb into the bath. The liquid is as thick as milk - once you're in, you'll be quite concealed. And then I'll join you after that.'

Nigel didn't quite manage a smile but said: 'All right. Promise me you won't peek, though?'

'Of course not!' said Sydney, with mock offence. 'The Sybil never peeks!'

'No, but you do tease mercilessly,' muttered Nigel as Sydney swished from the room. She heard, but a slight stub of guilt smothered her jokey response.

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The bathroom was as luxurious as the bedroom, hewn in a pure, white marble.

The pool itself, indeed, was so wide that Nigel imagined he could lie flat across its petal-strewn surface and still not touch the other side with his toes. It was overlooked by life-size statues of Gaia herself and her fellow deities who posed proudly in ornate wall-niches. Nigel perched himself on a narrow, submerged shelf that stretch right around the edges of the bath and tried to avoid the eerie gazes of their pupil-less eyes.

'Err, I'm ready!'

'Great!' Sydney was back through the door in a flash, one of her bejewelled shoulder clasps already unfastened and her chiton slipping decorously off one shoulder.

Nigel shielded his eyes with his hand as her clothing tumbled to the floor and she slid into the water with a swift, fluid movement.

'Did you peek?' asked Sydney airily.

'No,' lied Nigel, but he felt surprisingly little embarrassment for having spied at her statuesque form, and the swathes of sleek, sun-kissed flesh. She'd not even twitched an eyelash as she exposed herself completely, although surely she suspected he could not deny himself a glimpse?

'Mmm, this feels fantastic, doesn't it?' purred Sydney as the deliciously warm water lapped against her. She stretched her arms out to her sides so the firm upper curves of her cleavage lifted above the surface of the water. Nigel lowered his eyes - he couldn't be that blatant! He felt his cheeks glow hotter than ever.

'_I_ feel better already,' she continued, in a leisurely tone. 'How about you?'

'It feels nice,' said Nigel, deliberately understated. The thick, frothy liquid felt wonderful as it swaddled his sore skin, easing his numerous aches and pains, although not diluting them completely. But he still felt very uncomfortable, and he returned her wide-lipped, relaxed grin with an awkward half-smile. He thought urgently: 'why did you get in here naked with me? And what do you intend to do?'

The answer was given only too quickly as Sydney picked up from the edge of the pool an earthenware pot, full of some pale cream, and a large sponge and began sploshing over towards him.

Nigel pressed himself back against the side, regardless of his injuries, and began to sidle away from her: 'I, uh, am quite capable of washing myself!'

'Nigel, don't be silly. You can't wash your back, and I want to check how well it is healing. You let me put lotion on it before – and this is just a nice sort of soothing soap made of dill and olive oil.'

'Yes, but I wasn't _completely_ naked then. More to the point, _you_ weren't naked!'

Resistance, however, was futile. Sydney was already right next to him, her fingers on his shoulders, effortlessly turning him in the water so she was positioned in front of her, facing away. Then she raised them both so they stood, covered only to their waists in the water. Nigel didn't protest. Her touch felt wonderful, as it always did, and he vacantly wondered if she had bewitched him. Surrender was suddenly the only option.

Long, agile fingers began smoothing cool cream over the long welts on his back and shoulders. Nigel let out a long and heartfelt groan that seemed to emanate from somewhere deep in his chest; the cream fizzed and stung but his pain intermingled with a far more agonising pleasure. How could he not be acutely aware that she was completely uncovered? He could not see her, but he could feel her; he could sense her body heat, the rippling of air and water as she moved. How desperately he wanted to turn and embrace her, touch her as easily as she was touching him, but how surely he knew he couldn't. It was torture.

'Am I hurting you?'

Nigel swallowed a bitter laugh. 'A little. But it feels good, too.'

'I'm glad it feels good.' Sydney's voice was husky and low; he could feel the balminess of her breath as she eased a little closer. Her hands were now rubbing his lower back - where the skin was less damaged - in larger, sweeping motions. As her palms kneaded his lower hips, the tips of her fingers reached around and skimmed the sensitive skin of his abdomen.

Nigel let out a little cry and jolted himself away.

'Oh, sorry!' Sydney sounded surprised. 'Did it hurt too much?

He stared ahead at the wall breathlessly. Surely she _knew_ the effect she must have on him, that her actions and proximity ignited a swathe of sensual pleasure that no man could suppress? Still, he dared not accuse her any more than he dared to turn and face her in her sumptious, unclad state.

'No… it just felt…uncomfortable. I think I'd like to get out now.'

'So soon? I think it would be beneficial for you to have a good, long soak…'

'Please, Sydney, I'd _really_ like to get out now. Will you go?'

'If that's what you want.' He heard her plunge away across the pool, and then the wet slap of her feet as she ascended the steps.

'I'm decent,' she called after a moment. She lightly tripped around to his side of the pool and laid a folded white cloth on the edge in front of him.

'Here's something soft to dry yourself with. I'll give you a moment to sort yourself out.'

Nigel silently cursed himself. Maybe he'd misread the signs? He'd always been uncomfortable around women - besides, why would she ever be interested in _him_, when the temple was surrounded by brawny guards, many of who possessed very handsome faces, and with whom he'd heard Claudia flirt shamelessly whenever Sydney popped away. He managed a begrudging smile as he observed her shapely calves and ankles and delicate, painted feet, padding away across the room then vanish out of sight.

'I'm such a worthless fool,' he muttered, and pulled himself from the bath. It was then - as he felt the cool air against his nakedness and the blank eyes of the statues upon him - that the bad memories began to engulf him.

…………………………..

When Sydney returned, Nigel was dressed in his chiton, but still dripping wet, sitting dejectedly in a large, wicker chair. He looked up vaguely as she entered then dipped his eyes quickly.

She hurried across the room towards him. 'You're soaking!' she scolded mildly, picking up the discarded towel from the flooring and draping it around his shoulders. 'I will have to get you some dry clothes.'

Nigel said nothing and looked so mournful that her first instinct was to hug him. Yet something told her that she shouldn't comfort him physically. She crouched down at his knees, peering up anxiously into his face.

'Please tell me what troubles you.'

'I can't,' replied Nigel dully. 'It's too awful.'

'Talking about it will help them,' insisted Sydney. 'Is it Kafka? What did he do to you?'

'I said I didn't want to tell you!' Nigel's words were forceful, although he didn't raise his voice. He's sounded more distraught than cross.

'I'm a priestess,' urged Sydney kindly. 'I'm here to listen to people, to help them. It's one of my roles, maybe the most important one.'

Before she really registered what she was doing, she touched him lightly on his knee. Nigel inhaled sharply; suddenly he _wanted_ to tell her, as if she was sucking a confession from him. 'She _is_ a witch,' he thought ruefully.

She was about to reassure him that she wouldn't mind either way, when Nigel began to talk, his words pouring out in a fast, but broken, stream.

'He took everything, my money, my belongings, my clothes… I was nearly naked, and his men just kept laughing, and touching me, hitting me, making fun of how…pretty I was…' He covered his eyes and moaned, hardly believing he was telling her. 'They'd been drinking, and I was so afraid…I didn't know what they were going to do, but I knew it would be terrible… I shudder to think what would have happened if Kafka hadn't read the scroll…'

By this time, it was Sydney who had tensed. She had known deep down what an ordeal Nigel must have been through, but she hadn't let herself think about it - she never dwelt on the bad stuff. It was one of her strengths - but now she realised it could also be a weakness. A wave of guilt washed over her as he continued.

'When… when he read the scroll, the hexameter, he grabbed me by the hair, put that evil hook to my throat, and demanded that I told him about it… I said I was just the messenger and that I couldn't even read what it said… so he chained me up and whipped me until I told him…but I lied. I said I was supposed to be taking it to the Oracle at Delphi… and I'd become very lost. I'm not sure he believed me, but at least he stopped the punishment. Then he threw me in the hold of the ship with all the other slaves…and we set sail. It was dark and it stank down there, there was no room to move. The fever was rife and I just knew I was sinking with it … but when I overheard where we were going, I realized I had to find a way to escape, a way to talk to you… even if I died trying.'

By now, Sydney had risen to her feet: she almost wished he would _stop_ talking. His words lashed into her, made her feel so angry - with Kafka, but also with herself. Nigel's good looks had led her to treat him as a plaything, just as that beast had - she was little better than Kafka to have tried to ignore that obvious fact he had suffered emotionally as well as physically.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'Truly sorry. I should have imagined…'

'NO! Don't be sorry!' Nigel stood up and, to her surprise, threw his arms around her neck. 'If it hadn't been for you, I would probably be dead… or worse…'

She didn't think he was crying, but she could feel him breathing hard and fast. She stroked the damp hair at the back of his head.

'The worst part,' he murmured, 'was when that brute gave me my tunic back. I thanked him - I nearly wept with gratitude - and he just laughed. It was the most humiliating moment of my life!'

'Oh Nigel,' was all she could manage as she held him tight. He buried his face in her shoulder as she lightly caressed the nape of his neck.

'No more teasing,' she told herself. 'From now on, I am the Sybil and he is a man under my protection - including protection from myself. A friend, but no more than that. There must never be anything more!'

On the other side of the curtain, a pair of wide, blue eyes saw all, although the petite, bejeweled ears beneath the pretty, blonde curls heard nothing.

'Look but don't touch, huh?' seethed Claudia. 'She can't keep her hands off him – or he off her! Why shouldn't I have my goatherd…?'

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The Sybil of Camae yawned widely, and passed her fingers over tired eyes as she turned the three hundredth page of the sixteenth book of prophecy. Nigel and Claudia had gone to sleep hours ago, yet she sat up late, by the light of a tiny oil lamp, in the hope she could find clues about the challenges that faced them in the days ahead. She cursed for the umpteenth time that Claudia hadn't spent time better organising the lengthy pages of elaborate verse as she'd once suggested – but she knew it was here somewhere!

It was then she saw the correct passage and, as she read it, she found herself fighting a wave of apprehension. As she remembered, it told that the messenger of the Winter Goddess had an important role to play in the unfolding of the prophecy. But the exact nature of that role filled her with dread: it told that _he_ was the only one who could fetch the offering - the offering that she now knew was a branch from the Tree of Life itself. Moreover, according to the ancient writings, the messenger of the Winter Goddess was chosen by the gods, blessed in a special, unspecified way, and that he - he alone - could decide what should be done with the powerful relic. It was on his decision that the fate of the known world rested.

Sydney slammed shut the book, and stared into space, her eyes unseeing as her mind raced. What should she do? If she told Nigel, she had a feeling he would just panicked. He'd had enough to deal with lately.

She took a deep breath and made an executive decision: she would never lie to him, she just wouldn't tell him...not until he was ready to know. Then she'd break it to him gently. That, she was sure, would be best.

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**Thanks for reading. Please review. Less angst and more adventure in the next chapters, promise!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for those reviews, and for your comments on my (relatively) 'dark Claudia'. I originally just put her in his for comic relief, so I am blaming her reactions in the circumstances entirely on my muse – oh, and poor Claudia being deprived of boyfriends, of course ;) This chapter is a bit of a change of pace, and a little bit talkie, but had to crank up the plot a little for the action beyond…**

CHAPTER FOUR

'I can't believe you are going to leave _me_ to receive the weekly supplicants again!' moaned Claudia. 'What shall I tell them this time?'

'Uh, tell them what you always do,' replied Sydney as she threw some twine, water skins, a sheathed blade and various other supplies into a nifty shoulder bag she had designed herself for the purpose. 'Tell them I'm in the caves below the temple in deep communion with the goddess and I can't be disturbed. Add that I'm in a trance, and foaming at the mouth or something. That usually does the trick!'

Claudia, who was lolling against the green, marble topped cabinet in Sydney's bedchamber, still looked fed up: ' If Nigel is a prince, why can't he go slay the dragon by himself, or whatever it is he's got to do?'

'I'm not sure to Nigel is the dragon-fighting type. I think, as a prince, he's more in the mould of, err, Paris than Hector, if you get my drift.'

'Are you his _Helen_, then?' asked Claudia coyly. 'Will he launch a thousand ships for you?'

Sydney finished tightening her thigh-length leather bodice, slipped a dagger down the edge of her calf-hugging lace-up boots and turned to face Claudia questioningly: 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Uh, nothing. I just assumed you were in love with him.'

'Don't be daft. Besides, it wasn't Paris that launched the thousand ships, it was Agamemnon - you need to remember these things. But that's beside the point - this prophecy affects all of us and, even if it didn't, I like Nigel as a _friend_ and I want to help him.'

'For a friend, you see seem awfully fond of touching him and all…'

'He's been ill, remember?' Sydney chided mildly. 'It was essential he lived. Nigel has a special role in the prophecy. Although he will need my help to get there, only _he _can retrieve the relic…err, try to forget I said that! I haven't actually told _him _yet, and he's been through a lot. More than you know.'

Sydney noted with relief that Claudia did not seem to have paid much attention to her unguarded speech. On the contrary, the blonde assistant cradled her chin in her hand and puffed out her cheeks. 'I suppose Nigel has had a hard time, but I hate being left in the temple alone!'

Sydney offered a sympathetic smile. 'It won't be long this time. But you must promise me that you won't leave the temple grounds. You'll be safe here with the guards, but Kafka could have men anywhere, and who knows what he might try.'

'I promise.' Claudia fiddled uncommittedly with some little pink beads she had braided into her hair as she made the vow. Next thing she knew, Sydney had popped two fingers under her chin and tipped her face up so that their eyes met.

'Promise me, Claudia! No wandering off into the marketplace, and no chatting with goatherds! I don't want to be worrying that you're not safe!'

'I promise,' said Claudia straightening and taking Syd's hands in her own. She was sincere when she said: 'I'll miss my friend, though.'

'Me too,' replied Sydney warmly. 'Now I'd better go and see if Nigel is ready…'

………………………………………

'Tell me, hag!' What do you make of this scroll?'

Kafka arose from his couch and strode across the tent to tower over the bent figure of an elderly woman. She was raggedly dressed; unkempt silver-grey hair jutted out from her head at a dozen, eclectic angles. Unable to stand unaided, she clutched a spindly stick with twisted, bandaged hands and shook pitifully.

'Tell me what the scroll means,' said Kafka easily, 'or I shall rip out your tongue as well as your teeth and fingernails.'

The Sibyl of Tiburtine gaped at him, her mouth a toothless black hole. Then she shut it again, terrified, as he thrust his hooked hand right under her nose.

'Speak! Why do you think I keep you alive if I didn't think that someday having my own prophetess - or some stinking piece of excrement at once claimed to be one - if I didn't think you might be of use to me?'

'The prophecy is genuine,' she spluttered through a spray of blood and spittle. 'And it is an important one, foretold in the ancient books of the Sybils'. It holds the key to the whereabouts of the Tree of Life. He who holds the branch from the tree, has the power to decide the fate of all!'

'I knew it!' Kafka could not hide his glee. 'And where is this tree?'

'I do not know,' trembled the woman.

'What? Then you are worthless and you must die…'

Her paper-white face creased in despair: 'Wait! Wait! If you were to consult the right maps and text the place described in the prophecy could easily be found!'

'It could?' Kafka narrowed his eyes. 'Could the documents be in the possession of the Sybil of Camae by any chance?'

The terrified woman nodded.

'Good!' said Kafka. 'And now you die…'

'Wait!' she screeched again. 'There is more. The old prophecy tells of the messenger - the messenger of the Winter Goddess. His role shall be crucial!'

Kafka cocked an eyebrow. He had not forgotten Nigel. Naturally, he had since realised that the boy had certainly been lying when he said he knew nothing of the scroll. More pertinently, however, the former soldier was still annoyed at losing such a delectable slave, even temporarily, and had been looking forward to reclaiming him as his property.

'That pathetic little slave boy?' he queried, deliberately underplaying Nigel's charms. 'What could he possibly contribute?'

'I do not remember!' quivered the woman. 'It might be in the books at Camae.'

'Then my men will help you remember!' he motioned to his men. 'Take her away and jog her memory! And you!' He barked at one of his most efficient henchmen. 'Go to Camae, do what you need to get the information, and bring me the boy… come to think of it, bring me that little blonde piece from the temple as well! If the Sybil puts up a fight for her pretty friends, kill her. I've had enough of her wily tricks, and the island will be mine within the week anyway.'

The henchman left, and the old Sybil was dragged from the tent in silence, although her in her aging, pain-addled mind, she screamed at her own treachery.

………………………………………….

The little sailing ship, its bow carved to resemble the head of a snarling wolf, cut a nimble path between the rippling, foam-topped waves. A square, white sail billowed in a breeze that whipped briskly through the hair and clothes of the passengers gathered on deck, freshening their faces.

Nigel was leaning on the wooden wall of the stern, looking back towards the haughty, grey cliffs of the island of Camae, the blue-ish mountains beyond, and it's temple. The sacred building was now visible only as a golden smudge on the horizon.

'For one who has only just arrived, you seem rather sorry to leave.'

Nigel started; he had been so absorbed in thought he had not sensed Sydney at his side.

'Oh… it reminded me of when I set sail from my own island, that's all. I'd never seen the ocean before and, even though I could just see the land on the other side, I could barely believe there was anything beyond. There are so many kingdoms just on my island that I was happy to believe that it was the whole world… but the land beyond was so vast it just went on forever! I crossed villages, towns, forests, vast plains, mountains even… I never even saw the ocean again until I reached Neapolis.'

'Did you come all that way alone?' enquired Sydney.

'Oh no,' grinned Nigel. 'I travelled with a trader in statues and pottery who visits our people every year. He knew all the fast routes to the south - I think it was because he often had to make quick escapes. I'm not sure he was the most honest man… but he was a good enough friend. He wouldn't come into Neapolis with me because apparently he'd had a disagreement with the merchant's daughter, who accused him of selling her a fake love charm. He swore it would have worked if she was less of a battleaxe!'

Sydney's brows knitted as suspicion sparked: 'What was his name?'

'Uh, Stewie. Why? Do you know him?'

She laughed out loud. 'Everybody knows Stewie. There is not a temple in the Grecian and Roman empires to which he hasn't tried to pass off fake statues and idols. I think he has a friend in Rome who knocks them up for him on the cheap!'

'I can well believe that!' chortled Nigel. 'He once tried to sell my aunt a bale of old hay claiming it was the earthly incarnation of the Harvest God. Now, we may be simple people but we're not entirely stupid! Still, I was glad of his company. We had a few close calls with some unfriendly Goths and Gauls but it was only after he left me that things really went wrong…' He trailed off, gazing down at the foamy wash that trailed through the deep, blue ocean in the wake of the boat.

Sydney slipped her arm around his shoulder. 'Nothing is going to go wrong now, I promise.'

To her surprise, he shot her a cheeky grin: 'I _sort_ of believe you!'

They both laughed as cold, wet spray sprinkled across their hair and faces, consequent of a large wave that had hit the side of the ship. 'It feels good,' thought Sydney. 'Being with him feels good…'

Since Nigel had shared his terrible experiences with her, something between them had changed. The awkwardness of strangers - and the stifling, sexual tension - had been superseded by a disarmingly natural friendship, albeit one born of embarrassment and regret from both parties. For Nigel, who could still hardly believe she'd sucked such a confession from him, it had quenched any fantasy that she might have desired him. He had hardly been in the mood to be lusted after - and now he was convinced she could never view him in that light, having been brought so low. As beautiful as he found her, this did not bother him as much as he felt it ought - he was happy with friendship, and now he had nothing to lose it seemed so much easier. He didn't even mind her touching him now, something she sensed too.

For Sydney, Nigel's outpourings had been a terrible awakening and a check on her casual flirtatiousness. Nigel deserved respect and friendship, and that was what she would give him. Her heart whispered of love, but it was surely in the vein of the love she felt for Claudia, she told herself. It was a bond of companions, siblings, colleagues…

'Look!' Sydney nudged her new friend excitedly. 'The smoking mountain!'

Nigel turned to see the boat was now approaching the city, but the landscape was dominated by a colossal, cone-shaped mountain. Ominously bare, dark, sloping sides soared up to a bluntish apex, from which a coil of grey smoke drifted up into the high, fleecy clouds.

He was momentarily enthralled by the prospect. Sydney, on the other hand, could not help but look in admiration at Nigel. The sun had returned a healthy hue to his cheeks, and his light brown hair - which was long enough to kiss the back of his neck and occasionally to flop decorously over one eye - shimmered deep golden in the sunlight. Dressed in a sky-blue chiton gathered at the waist with a soft, leather belt, and a long, grey cape that flowed lightly in the wind, he appeared almost ethereally handsome: a prince through and through. As she drank in the sight of him, she felt a warm glow in the pit of her stomach and found it hard to tear her eyes away.

Only his words broke her fascinated trance: 'I saw the smoking mountain from Neapolis, but it didn't look so impressive form the city, and I saw nothing from the ship of course. Why, um, does it smoke? Is it really the furnace of the gods?'

'One of the mountains on Camae billows smoke occasionally - but if there is a God in there firing it, he doesn't seem to come out and say hello very often.' Sydney wiggled her eyebrows humourously.

'For a priestess, you can be awfully sceptical,' observed Nigel. 'I think it's amazing. It can only be divine - unless there is a dragon in there.'

'The gods are real enough,' she shrugged. 'But I've sensed something strange lately. Their power is waning a little. Men ate becoming the new rulers of the earth. The question is, will those rulers be good men - or will they be men like Kafka.'

Nigel flinched at the mere mention of his name: 'I'll pray to any deity who will listen that _he'll _never rule the earth…what is it?'

Sydney was staring at a small, black shape on the blue horizon - a little sailing ship that was currently circumnavigating the far side of the volcano on a course out to sea, towards Camae.

'I don't recognise that sail. It's not Camaen, or any of the Neapolitan traders…'

'Is it _him_?' asked Nigel anxiously. 'Surely he wouldn't return so soon?'

'It's certainly not his own ship, but he has been known to travel incognito. The man's a natural born pirate! But one ship, whoever is on board, shouldn't be a threat to the island's defences, although its occupants could sneak in unnoticed. Curses! I just hope Claudia stays safe inside!'

'I'm sure she'll do what you asked,' reassured Nigel. 'I know _I_ would. '

Sydney smiled, not quite easy. 'You're a great friend, Nigel… but, come. We dock soon, and we've got many things to plan. The people of Neapolis have always been friends of Camae, but they are loyal to Rome and in these times of enmity we must take care.'

'I am all for taking care!' said Nigel sincerely.

Her hand slipped into his. 'Don't worry about anything. Just remember, I'm no longer the Sybil. Nobody knows me without my mask, and we are just ordinary citizens going about our business. Just keep close, and everything will be just fine.'

…………………………………………..

Sydney sensed something was wrong before the little boat even docked at Neapolis. The usually bustling quay was quiet and a small group of men in breastplates and helmets were milling about by the water's edge.

'Romans,' she murmured, straining her eyes anxiously. 'Nigel, can you swim?'

'Of course I can,' retorted Nigel, before he discerned her meaning. 'But I'm not in the mood to do it now, if that's what you're thinking!'

'Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Just leave this to me…'

Even before the boat had docked, one of the soldiers began making a loud announcement:

'By order of the new Governor of the province of Neapolis, Frankus Kafka, all citizens of Camae must present their papers on arrival in the city. All without papers and legitimate business will be taken to the civic jail!'

Every muscle in Nigel's body tensed, and not only because of the unexpected news of Kafka's ascendancy, which alarmed Sydney also. He recognised one of the soldiers, a red-faced giant, from his ordeal the other day. He pulled up his hood so it covered his face, and tugged Sydney's cloak urgently.

'I think I'm ready for that swim right now!'

'Just relax,' breathed Sydney. 'Let me handle this.'

'You have the right papers?'

'None for you, and none for me that don't say I'm the Sybil of Camae, and I've a feeling that would get us to the jail fastest of all.'

'Then what are you going to do?' Nigel sounded frantic.

'This isn't Kafka, just a couple of his henchmen and the town guard. They're only carrying out orders…we don't need papers.'

As she spoke, Sydney undid the silver clasps that fastened her cloak at the neck to reveal her figure-hugging tunic, knee-high boots and a sheathed sword. She swiftly handed her cloak and sword to Nigel who, desperate not draw attention to himself, slipped the latter straight in his belt. 'Good,' nodded Sydney. 'Now act natural.'

She pulled down her neck-line so low that it verged on the indecent, causing Nigel to tug his hood down even further - after a tiny peep! Then she placed one hand on her shapely hip and shimmied off up the deck in the direction of the soldier who was checking the papers, the rest of the armed men having backed off.

'Well hello,' she purred. 'What are you looking for? A good time?'

The soldier struggled to maintain his cool front, although a small amount of drool began to trickle from the corner of his gaping mouth.

'Papers,' he demanded in a particularly rough, low voice, holding out one hand. 'Kafka won't be allowing all the scum of Camae to pour into his streets.'

'But I'm on business,' she purred, one hand beginning to paw his silver breastplate. 'Maybe you and I can do a little deal…'

Reaching between her sun-kissed cleavage, she pulled out a little fabric pouch and rattled it so close in front of his nose that he had to cross his eyes to see it – once he'd torn them away from her breasts, of course.

'Pure gold,' she whispered, as he took the bag from her and inspected its contents. 'My, uh, client wishes to travel incognito.' Here she motioned with her head to Nigel, whose face was now completely invisible. 'This young man's father is one of the richest merchants of Neapolis, and a great friend of Kafka. You wouldn't want to cause the family any embarrassment, would you?'

The soldier looked undecided, so she leant in whispered breathily in his ear: 'Of course, if that doesn't suit, you and I can always join forces to blackmail his papa. And then we can get to know each other… really well…'

The guard licked his lips and offered a leering smile: 'It's a deal. And now do I get a kiss?'

He shut his eyes and puckered up his rubbery lips expectantly. Sydney couldn't quite contain her revulsion. 'Err, no…you could never afford _that_! I'll be in touch!'

She grabbed Nigel's hand and they were on the other side of the gang-plank before he even had a chance to look down and wobble.

'I can't believe you did that!' he spluttered, as they walked briskly through the larger group of guards and soldiers, who eyed them casually but not suspiciously – they saw her assets and assumed they knew Sydney's 'type'. One of them wolf whistled.

Nigel was so shocked he'd completely forgotten his mortal fear of the big, red-faced soldier who was amongst the group: 'You're supposed to be a priestess! The Sybil!'

The painful dig of nails in the back of his hand silenced him quickly and soon they were out of the earshot of the group. She stopped dead and turned to him.

'Not any more! People on the mainland know me only without my mask, as a relic hunter and adventuress, and I do what I need to survive. Here, this is my life. I'm not a Sybil, I'm an ordinary woman… well, ordinary-ish.'

'Sybil or woman, you're far from ordinary,' thought Nigel wistfully and they disappeared off into the maze of city streets.

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter. The first half of this chapter is a bit 'talkie' again, I guess, but then the action really begins - promise! Feedback is much appreciated! Thanks ;)**

CHAPTER FIVE

The sun was high in the sky but the city of Neapolis was eerily quiet. Shop signs could be heard creaking in the wind, doors hung open and broken pots, spilled wine and other goods poured out onto the street. The only other being braving the out-of-doors was a skinny black cat, who happily mauled a half-eaten chicken leg in the gutter. In the air, a stale burning smell lingered with the unsavoury odours of an unswept street.

'Was it like this the other day?'

'No, there were more people about then. On balance, I prefer the ghost town, but it's a close-run thing!'

Nigel was extremely edgy. Having got over the shock of Sydney's escape plan, the full horror of being near Kafka soldiers and in the city in which he was captured returned to him. He was so busy looking behind himself for sneaky attackers that he kept on tripping on litter and loose paving slabs and nearly falling. After steadying himself for the umpteenth time, he added: 'From what I could discern, Kafka hadn't declared himself governor then.'

'Somehow, I'm guessing that's what swept the brave citizens of Neapolis off the street – and the litter onto it!'

Sydney headed, swiftly but warily, to the forum at the centre of the town and its impressive, colonnaded facade. Here, at last, she saw people: two elders, dressed in long, gold-embroidered white togas and speaking to each other in low, hushed tones. Sydney wrapped her cape tight around herself and marched up to them confidently.

'Salutations Quintus Fatamus, Portilus Pompey!' she cried cheerily. 'I return to your town, bringing my brother to see the bazaars and libraries, and everything is shut! Where is everyone?'

'Salutations Loria Foxus,' replied the taller and skinnier of the men, addressing Sydney familiarly with a name completely alien to Nigel. He motioned for her to come closer. 'It is good to see you, but you have not picked a good time to visit us and our fine library again...'

His companion, however, forced a cheery grin: 'Quintus! Why do you say such a thing? There is nothing amiss!'

Sydney gave a disbelieving laugh: 'Uh, hello? All the shops are shut and raided - I passed the library and it was half burnt out! There is _nobody_ on the streets!'

She broke off as she realised that Quintus, his feet shuffling nervously, was motioning that she should follow him into the forum. She did, with Nigel staying very close beside her.

'It is the new governor, Kafka,' he hissed, so quiet that Sydney had to strain her ears. 'His men looted the city because they needed supplies… and entertainment. They took all the best food, the finest wine… and the prettiest young men and women as slaves, including some of the children of the citizens…'

'And you let him?'

'We had little choice! There is a Grecian army on the island of Camae, poised for an invasion. The city guard could not stand alone, and we need his help. Half the city has fled and the rest are too scared to come out.'

Sydney gawped a moment in disbelief. 'But the people of Neapolis and Camae have always been friends, regardless of their imperial loyalties.'

'But now Camae betrays us,' moaned Portilus, 'and we have no choice but to trust in Kafka.'

Sydney manifested her anger only in a sardonic smile: 'And where are Kafka's troops now?'

'Most are camped to the north, but there are patrols everywhere… they say the Greeks could attack at any moment, so be careful as you travel.'

'Will do,' affirmed Sydney bitterly. She was about to storm from the forum, when Portilus laid a shaking hand on hers: 'Will you help us?' he asked, so quietly she had to read his lips. 'Like you did when the Harpies plundered the city and harvested our infants? You were magnificent!'

'I'll do my best,' said Sydney, still smothering her rage. 'But I can tell you one thing now - the only army within one hundred miles of this city is Kafka's!'

With that, she grabbed Nigel by the arm and charged off into the deserted town.

'The lying bastard!' she seethed. 'He has turned the whole city against my island, in order to forge his own dominion here at Neapolis and Camae. He's drawn us into the war!'

'The war? What war?'

'Not a great deal of news reaches your part of the world, does it?'

Nigel cringed, vaguely embarrassed. 'Not really'.

'Well, there's a war on, Nigel; as Rome expands her Empire, Greece resists - there is fighting in the east right now, the tidings of which I have yet to learn although my prophecies so far have not looked good. I hope yours will be different. But it makes it all the more important we get to the Tree of Life and take the branch back to Gaia to learn how it can be used for good. If Kafka got his hands it, he could overthrow the Senate in Rome, declare himself emperor, and extend his tyranny over the whole known world!'

'I'd definitely prefer avoiding _that _eventuality,' retorted Nigel, trying not to dwell on its sheer awfulness. 'What's the plan?'

'We leave the city to the south. I'd rather dodge a few patrols than a whole army. But first we need to procure some horses. Do you ride?'

'I can,' sniffed Nigel. 'But I'm not fond of the beasts. They make me sneeze.'

'When you're going to have to sneeze quietly, unless you want one of Kafka's patrols on our tail.'

'I'll hold my breath,' he mumbled. 'Anything but that!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'I've never seen a tattier pair of nags,' chortled Nigel, patting the neck of his stubby, brown mare as they trotted out of a little-known back exit from the city - the sort of secret gateway that Sydney made it her business to be aware of. 'I like this one, she is nice and steady!'

A young mother, who remembered Loria Foxus and refused payment, had given the two shabby mules to them. Sydney was decidedly unimpressed with their acquisitions. She dug a heel impatiently into her ride's flank. 'I could do with a little less steadiness and more swiftness'.

'I thought you said stealth not speed would get us around the patrols?'

'I hope so,' sighed Sydney. ' I can't believe nobody else even offered us a saddle! It seems citizens of Neapolis certainly have short memories, after what I did for them last year. Although they're probably just afraid…'

'If you don't mind me asking, what exactly _did _you do for them with those, um, Harpies? If memory serves, aren't those birdlike daemons with a razor sharp claws and heads like savage women?'

Sydney grinned, genuinely impressed. 'Yes, that's right – so you know the tale of Jason in the Argonauts?'

'I am familiar with all your great histories!' announced Nigel, then added with a flush of modesty: 'although I'm sure you know them better.'

'Believe me, I'm a little rusty on some! But anyway, last year a group of Harpies drifted into town and started swooping down and snatching children from where they played in the streets, stripping bare the flesh, then casting the naked bones down into the city. I was in the library, researching for a relic hunt. Not that I wouldn't have helped anyway, but I couldn't concentrate on the texts because of the wails of the distraught parents. It was a nightmare!'

Nigel stared at her in sheer horror. 'How awful! So what did you do?'

'Well, you know your history. These problems with nasty beasts always seem to have a relatively simple solution, if you can just think of it – such as tying your army to the bottom of sheep to escape blind ogres, that sort of thing. When Jason got rid of the Harpies, he simply got two members of his crew who, rather conveniently, were descendants of the north wind, to blow them away.'

'So you harboured the power of the north wind?'

'Uh, no, but fortunately, it was a windy day anyway. I recruited the bravest women of the city and led them out of the north gates. Each of us held in our arms a piglet wrapped in swaddling clothes.'

'Clever!' Nigel was now utterly intrigued. 'Did you feed the piglets to the harpies?'

'No, better than that. The Harpies thought the women were fleeing to safety with their children. They screamed and dived. The shrieks were dreadful, they tore at our eardrums, and they were coming upon us so fast and furiously I was sure they intended to rip our eyes from their sockets as well as the babes from our arms. Even I was pretty shaken, but we all held fast. At the last moment, I gave a sign and we released our piglets on the ground. They squealed and darted, confusing the Harpies and sending them soaring high into the air. Then the current of the wind blew them into a forest where they became lost among the trees. They've not been back to the city since!'

'Amazing!' gushed Nigel.

'…and a little lucky,' admitted Sydney. 'In communion with Gaia I learned that the Harpies had been sent by the goddess Hera for her own entertainment. I've yet to learn if she is angry… not that I care! If I saw that bitch, I'd give her what was coming to her for picking on children!'

Nigel couldn't help laughing: 'Nothing scares you, does it?'

'The slowness of these mules, does…but I suppose they we will get farther than we would on foot, especially with you so lately ill.'

'I've never felt better,' countered Nigel, disgusted by Hera but exhilarated by the story of Sydney's triumph. 'And I think I will soon forget about… oh, everything - once we get away from the city. Actually, I'm quite excited at the prospect of a bit of adventure and finding the Tree of Life.'

As she led them up a narrow path into a vast forest, which cascaded up the lower slopes of the mountains beyond Neapolis, Sydney peeped over her shoulder to observe Nigel. With his hood pulled down and his hair swept back from his face, he grinned back at her, and a glint in his eyes suggested that the bad memories that the city had revived were dwindling into the distance.

'Maybe its time,' she wondered.

'Nigel, there's something I have to tell you about the prophecy and your role in it.'

The grin instantly faded. 'My role? I didn't know I was anything more than the messenger…'

'Err, yes and no. According to the ancient text, the messenger of the Winter Goddess is the only one who will be able to retrieve the relic. I will take you as far as I can but I'm not sure I'll be able to help you with the final task.'

'What?' Nigel pulled tight on the reins of his mule, bringing the animal to a halt. 'Why didn't you tell me that before?'

'I didn't want to alarm you.'

'Well, I'm alarmed now!'

'But you just said you were looking forward to a bit of adventure.'

'Yes, but not alone!'

Nigel thought ruefully to himself: 'I was looking forward to being with you, facing danger together, working as a team,' but he couldn't quite bring himself to say it. Instead he mumbled: 'Last time I was alone, it ended in disaster.'

'It won't this time, I promise!' Sydney had now ridden back alongside him and was surreptitiously nudging his mule to move on. 'I'll go with you as far as I can - further if possible - and there may be no challenges at all once we get there. After all, you are the one who is supposed to be able to take the branch. Any traps are probably just there to ward off imposters, not you.'

'I'm pretty sure that a dragon wouldn't know or care the difference,' moaned Nigel, but chivied his mule onwards nevertheless. Seeing his expression growing intense with anxiety again, Sydney decided she should keep tidings of Nigel's other role in the prophecy - the decisions he would have to make - quiet for now.

The forest around them deepened and the atmosphere became damp and cold. Gnarled branches adorned with thick, drooping leaves - so dark a shade of green they appeared a dingy brown - closed in overhead, shutting out most of the daylight.

'By the way,' added Sydney in an undertone. 'As far as I know, the Harpies are still in the forest. I suggest we keep our voices down!'

'And you tell me now!' whined Nigel, and they both fell silent.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It took a couple of hours to reach the far side of the forest. Every time a bird squawked, or the wind murmured through the trees, Nigel was sure it was a Harpie coming to peck his eyes out and ducked down close to his mule. But they never came.

He did not feel any relief, however, when the track finally hit open land, winding down into a deep, narrow valley. Although a tiny stream trickled through a crevice at its base, the walls of the vale were steep, covered in sandy soil and scattered rocks, and largely devoid of vegetation. The odd scrubby bush or gangling tree tottered precariously from its steep edges. It was just the sort of open land - with no hiding places - that Nigel hoped they would avoid.

Sydney paused and looked carefully in all directions before they attempted the descent.

'What is it?' he hissed. 'Do you see a patrol? Or a Harpie?'

'No,' said Sydney, although she felt deeply uneasy. She dismounted and gestured that Nigel should do the same. 'We're going to have to lead the animals down the steep path - and be quick about it. I don't like crossing open ground so close to the city.'

Nigel did not like the sound of this but, seeing as they had little choice, began following her downwards. Covered in loose pebbles, the path crumbled under his feet every time he took a step. He, and his mule, slipped and nearly fell a couple of times and then, despite his utmost effort to pick the firmest looking foothold, the path beneath him disintegrated completely. His legs shot out from under him just as his mule, alarmed, nudged him angrily with her nose. Nigel found himself sliding all the way to the base of the bumpy, stony slope on his backside.

'Stupid nag!' growled Nigel, looking back to see his mule staring at him complacently.

'Sssssssshhh!' Sydney grabbed him by the back of his collar and yanked him up quickly - in Nigel's opinion, adding insult to injury.

'I wish you wouldn't drag me about like I was your slave…' He began, rubbing his sore behind. It was then he saw the dust clouds. 'Oh…oh! What's that!'

'It might not be a patrol - but we need to get to the other side of the valley. Now!'

Sydney grabbed both of the mules' reigns and began to run across the dry base of the valley. Fortunately, the animals were so shocked by the suddenness of it all that they followed her without resistance until they reach the middle. Then, although Sydney cleared the tiny rivulet with one leap, the beasts dug in their heels and Nigel hesitated.

'Come on!' she demanded. 'It could be Kafka!'

Nigel took her proffered hand, a deep breath, shut his eyes and leapt to join her - without any stumbling at all. The mules, however, were not so easily persuaded.

'We'll have to leave them,' cried Sydney, but Nigel had frozen again and she realised that her coaxing words had been far _too_ prophetic. He was staring at the direction of the approaching riders, who were now close enough to be easily identifiable as an armed patrol. The massive figure that led them onwards, mounted on a vast, grey steed, was also distinctive.

'Kafka!' cried Nigel. 'He's come to take me!'

'No he won't,' assured Sydney, and began hauling him off behind her, shading her face with the other hand. She could see the big man too and, even worse, he could see her. The valley echoed with a roar of ecstatic rage: Kafka, now urging his men on faster, had recognised at least one of them!

Sydney kept running, her heart pounding faster than the approaching hooves. Her mind was racing too: they'd never make it up the other side in time, and she couldn't fight a whole patrol. It didn't help that Nigel was now dragging her back like a dead weight, all but paralysed with fear. She needed a plan, and she needed it fast.

'Goddess,' she muttered, trying to clear her mind of its panic and clutter. 'Give us what we seek!'

Instantaneously, her eyes fell upon a pallid, twiggy tree, jutting precariously from the base of the the valley side.

'Of course! We seek the Tree of Life... and that one just might save ours!'

She stopped dead. Nigel stumbled to a halt behind her, still gazing unfocusedly in the direction of the riders and apparently too scared to speak or do anything. She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him urgently.

'I need you to help me. We're going to bring down the side of the valley upon them!'

'What?!' The sheer absurdity of the suggestion punched Nigel back to his senses. 'How? That's impossible!?!'

'Not with a bit of divine intervention it isn't… now help me pull out that tree!'

The soil around its roots was thin and crumbly. Although it took their combined strength, the spindly sapling came away quickly - but the riders were nearly upon them.

'What now?' cried Nigel, thrusting his fingers through his hair in desperation. Pulling out the tree had had no obvious effect.

'Please, Gaia, Moreana - anyone?' willed Sydney. Then Nigel sneezed.

The instant he did so, the dust of the hillside began to rush into the holes left by the roots. Realising her plan was working, Sydney grabbed him by the hand again. 'Run!' she cried, and they did.

Nigel's throat was so contracted with fear he could barely breathe, but somehow he managed to keep up with Sydney as they sprinted up the valley. He swore he could sense Kafka's hook slicing through the air towards him. Any moment, he thought, the demon would impale him, scooping him up like a hunted animal, a flailing fish…

Suddenly, the thud of hooves that filled his ears was superseded by an ominous rumbling which swelled like thunder then exploded into a crash. There were shouts and cries, whinnying of horses, and dust filled their eyes and lungs. But Sydney did not stop running - neither did Nigel.

They tore on up of the valley until they heard the cries no more.

Just as Nigel swore his legs were about to buckle, Sydney finally stopped. They both dropped to the ground, choking out the dust and gasping for sweet air.

'Are you all right?' asked Sydney after a moment, regarding Nigel concernedly.

'Yes… quite well,' he panted. 'But how did you know it would happen? How did you know we'd start an avalanche?'

Sydney half laughed, half coughed. 'It pays to be a Sybil. I asked the goddess - or maybe it was just a hunch! Then again, it was _your_ sneeze that set everything in motion.'

'I don't think that contributed in anyway! It was just that stupid mule.' Nigel flung himself back on the dust, his arms thrown above his head, and took a long, deep breath. If anything, he seemed to be recovering faster than she did. 'Do you think we…uh, killed him?'

'Maybe,' replied Sydney, but her hopes were shallow and she knew he doubted it too. The strongest hunch of all was telling her that nothing was ever that easy!

**Thanks for reading. Please review – go on. Its my birthday ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for the reviews of the previous chapter.**

CHAPTER 6

'Sydney - how much further must we go tonight? I'm starving!'

Sydney paused on her determined climb into the foothills of the mountains. Her legs screamed for rest and, looking back at Nigel, she could tell from his weary expression and drooping gait that he was just about ready to drop. She threw down her pack and glanced westward.

'The summer sun won't set for another couple of hours. If we stop now, we must start again before dawn.'

Nigel grunted in agreement: he was already lying down flat on the ground, too relieved to have taken the weight of his throbbing feet to argue.

'Hungry?' asked Sydney.

'If I still had that mule I would eat it!'

Sydney laughed and reached into her backpack, pulled out some barley bread and tossed a slice over onto Nigel's flat, empty stomach.

'You'll have to make do with that, at least for now. But these mountains are supposed to be alive with deer - I'll go and see if I can catch us a proper meal.'

'With what?' asked Nigel, propping himself up of one elbow and taking a large bite of the bread. 'I defy even _you_ to bring down a fast running deer with a sword or a knife.'

He eyed her suspiciously as she began hooking a wiry thread to either end of a bendy cane, and then realised she was fashioning a long bow. 'My goodness!' he spluttered. 'I never knew Sybil's were so resourceful!'

'I'm the relic hunter now,' she reminded him 'When I'm on a hunt, I don't have the comforts of the temple. I've had to learn how to survive. '

'Oh yes, I forgot how accustomed you must be to this sort of life.' He took another healthy bite of his food, and asked between chews: 'Would you like me to come with you?'

Deciding it would be better he rested, she shook her head. 'No, you set up camp here. I won't go far, but don't fall asleep. Besides Kafka - if he's still alive - we don't know who or what might be lurking in these mountains. If you sense any danger and I'm not nearby, hide!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Frankus Kafka was bloodied, saturated in dust and very, very angry. He seized his fellow survivor of the avalanche with his good hand and shook him hard.

'It was her, wasn't it, with _my_ slave? _That_ woman!'

The henchmen nodded cringingly. 'The woman bore a definite resemblance to Loria Foxus.'

'I knew it!' Kafka was so furious at the mention of the relic hunter who'd severed his hand that he spat forcefully onto the ground. '_She_ is in league with the Sybil - the Sybil must have asked her to retrieve the branch from the Tree of Life. But why take the boy?'

'He, uh, must know something… or _be_ somebody…'

Kafka struck him from his insolence. He was increasingly livid that he'd to Nigel slip from his grip so carelessly. 'That's quite obvious!' he bellowed. 'But _what_ does he contribute?'

The henchmen dared not say any more but Kafka's cold mind was calculating fast. With Foxus on the hunt, he need not make any effort to retrieve the relic himself - all he had to do was be there to take it off her when she tried to return to Camae!

A leering grin spread across his face. He was suddenly glad he'd lost his horses and had been unable to go straight after her. All he needed was the information from the temple about where they were going - information that, with any luck, was nearly in the hands of his men. Then he would be waiting with his army to retrieve the relic, kill the woman he hated so much, and reclaim his attractive piece of property - in addition to the pretty little blonde he'd already sent men for. Yes, everything was going perfectly to plan – even if he'd only just realised he'd got one!

XXXXXXXXXXX

Nigel never meant to disobey her. Yet the mossy ground was so soft springy and the evening sun so gentle and balmy against his face, that sleep overcame him before he realised what was happening.

Even as he dozed, he knew he was doing wrong. His rest was uneasy and before long his compulsion to please Sydney caused him to jolt awake abruptly. It was then he saw the little girl.

It was quite impossible to miss her. She was leaning over him, peering placidly into his face. Dressed in a sleeveless, linen frock, she had long, black hair that tumbled in loose wisps over her bare shoulders. Her skin was a flawless shade of olive, and she had deep, brown eyes. For a second, Nigel thought he must still be asleep and dreaming of Sydney as a little girl.

He was startled, then, but sensing no danger from a child, he swallowed his surprise, blinked twice and said: 'Hello there!'

'Salutations,' replied the little girl. Her voice was small and girlish although its tone was very serious. 'I thought you might be dead.'

Nigel offered a lopsided smile. 'No, I'm afraid not.' He set up slowly and the little girl rested back on her haunches. 'Who are you? Are you lost?'

'My name is Linnea, and I'm not lost,' she sighed. 'I am merely hiding from my evil stepfather, who is angry with me!'

'Sounds bad,' sympathised Nigel. 'I used to hide from my uncle when he was angry. He adored my brother, but had little time for me, and used to beat me mercilessly…'

'My stepfather would never beat me!' interjected the girl proudly. 'He wouldn't dare, but he shouts so loud it makes me cry.' Her voice wavered mournfully, but only a little.

'Nasty,' winced Nigel, still empathising. 'So why was he angry?'

'He sent me out to pick berries, and I brought back the wrong sort.' She passed him a large basket that had been resting on a nearby tuft of moss. 'Look! They're quite delicious, but he wanted red berries and I could only find bluey-black ones.'

'What a fussy stepfather!' retorted Nigel, observing that the berries look very tasty. As if on cue, his tummy rumbled - one slice of barley bread had hardly been enough to satisfy him. She shoved the basket right under his nose, but he pushed them back towards her and forced another grin. 'You must enjoy them all yourself after your efforts gathering them.'

The little girl gave a high, tinkling laugh. 'I can't do that! I've been eating them all day whilst picking and I'm stuffed, although I did save the juiciest, plumpest ones for my stepfather.' She looked up at Nigel from under hooded, nigh-sultry eyelids. 'Please, would you eat them? It would make me so happy?'

Although not quite sure why, Nigel suddenly felt rather uncomfortable. 'Thank you, but I couldn't,' he insisted, still beaming awkwardly. 'It wouldn't be right.'

The girl popped one of the berries in her mouth, dispelling Nigel's glimmering suspicion that they were poisoned. 'They're lovely and sweet,' she implored, 'and I like _you_ very much - much more than my stepfather. He is very ugly, and you're the handsomest man I've ever seen!' For the first time, she smiled back, blue juice staining creamy, childish teeth. 'Please eat them for me!'

Nigel blushed modestly and dismissed her comments on his looks but, regarding the berries, thought: 'why not?' It was better than sinking with hunger until Sydney returned. He thanked her graciously, took a large handful and began shovelling them hungrily into his mouth.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Claudia stared into the mirror and puffed out her cheeks. She'd braided pearly beads into her hair - then taken them all out again. Having done that, she'd woven the prettiest, and freshest blooms from the garden into a necklace - for a little while, it had looked fabulous, but it was already starting to wither.

Yes, she was bored, bored, bored. She hated it when Sydney wasn't there for her to chat to and the guard on duty today, Georgus, was old and annoying. She couldn't even flirt!

What was she supposed to do? Read a book?

She was just considering making a fan out of some papyrus that Sydney had left for 'boring' notemaking, went she heard a loud tootling noise, followed by a low, resonant hum. She groaned: it was Georgus. He was forever wailing out embarrassingly unfashionable music from his reedy pipe and singing to himself about Dionysus, who he claimed was 'the king' of music. In Claudia's eyes, it was all _so_ yesterday! Everybody who was anybody was into Apollo and lute music!

She turned, pouting, as the music broke off and the large, bearlike figure of Georgus stepped tentatively into the room.

'Priestess Claudia,' he began. 'The townspeople have been waiting nearly an hour and are ready to receive your message from the Sybil.'

'Oh! Oh my Goddess!' Claudia gaped with realisation. It was that time already? How could she have forgotten?

'Are you quite alright, my lady?' asked Georgus, scanning her with kindly grey eyes. Despite Claudia's harsh judgment, he was a good, loyal man - if rather obsessive about his beloved music. One of the few others who knew the secret of her double life, he had once helped Sydney retrieve the very pipe he was holding, said to be the instrument of Dionysus himself.

'No!' whined Claudia. 'I'm not alright. I hate having to tell them that Sydney isn't here - they complain and they won't go away, just in case she appears or something. Sometimes, they stay for hours just moaning at me about their tedious troubles.'

'I'm truly sorry,' gushed Georgus enthusiastically. 'Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe I could entertain them with my pipe while they waited?'

Claudia eyed him up and down in such a scathing fashion that the big man felt very small: 'I suppose _that_ might drive them away,' she tittered. 'No… you can't do anything. But I do have a little idea. Now, go and tell the people that the Sybil will be out in a little while.'

'The Sybil? But…!'

'Just do it, Grandad! I'm going to get myself ready…'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sydney returned hot, tired and luckless. The mountainside had been to devoid of life apart from tiny brown birds that twittered from the bushes and the omnipresent, humming cicadas. They'd been no sign of anything edible, not even a coney! On seeing Nigel laughing and sharing a basket of berries with a little girl, however, surprise pushed away her annoyance and weariness

'Err, Nigel? Are you going to introduce me to your friend?'

'Sydney!' He looked up suddenly, having not even noticed her creep up. 'Meet Linnea, who has been kind enough to share her berries with me. Look!' he jumped up and passed her the basket. 'We saved you some.'

'Not many!' observed Sydney. There were only six left.

Nigel grimaced apologetically. 'Sorry.'

'He was hungry,' said the little girl. 'He got a bit carried away. You can't blame him - he has a man's appetite.'

There was something in the little girl's thin, glassy voice that chafed against Sydney's nerves. She sniffed the berries - they seemed benign enough, and she was sure she'd grown a very similar variety in the garden of her temple. They looked plump, juicy and sumptious. Hunger compelled her to pop one in her mouth.

Sugary juice exploded over her tongue and throat as soon as her teeth pierced the fragile skin. It tasted divine; as sweet as a jam and as seductive on the taste-buds as wine.

'Mmmmmmm!' she gobbled a second one as Nigel beamed up at her, obviously delighted at her pleasure.

After she had consumed a third, fourth and fifth, the little girl rose to her feet and asked: 'Is it good, Sybil?'

Sydney chilled with trepidation as she chewed. How did the little girl know she was the Sybil? She already trusted Nigel too much to know he would never let on. Then suspicion turned to horror as the liquid in her mouth turned hideously sour. Her hand clamped onto her chest as she began to choke.

Nigel was on his feet in an instant, patting her on the back. 'Sydney…what is it?' The girl just stared.

'How do you know I'm the Sybil?' demanded Sydney betwixt gasps for air.

Recognising the issue, Nigel turned to the girl, questioningly. A malevolent grin had already creased across her unnaturally youthful face. As she smiled, she began to transform, her lips and breast swelling, her hair oozing down her back so it trailed way below the heightening waste, brushing the backs of what were now long, shapely legs. As Nigel gawped in disbelief and Sydney glared in fury, a woman developed in front of their eyes. Tall and callously beautiful, and with her fleshy curves spilling out of the child's tiny dress, she towered above them both. Out of nowhere, a long a red cloak suddenly swirled around her, saving her modesty.

'Hera!' snarled Sydney. 'What quarrel have you with us? Go about your business, and I will go about Gaia's!'

Hera tossed her hair carelessly. 'I care nothing for Gaia's business.' Her eyes flitted to Nigel, and she added: 'or Moreana's, if it comes to that! If their plans conflict with mine, they shall be thwarted. Now look in the basket, Sibyl.'

With dread, Sydney did so. The berries, like the woman, were completely transformed. They were now small, shrivelled and a blood red.

'Môlu berries!' cooed Hera. 'The most deadly poison of all. Good bye, Sybil!'

Hera vanished into thin air, without an explosion, without a flash. Only Sydney heard the malicious goddess's unspoken words resonate in her ears, strangely soft and apologetic: 'I don't hold grudges, Sydney. This isn't about the Harpies...'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The gathered populous fell quiet as the 'Sybil' tentatively emerged from between the curtain - safe behind her golden mask - and tottered onto the steps of the temple. Claudia was swathed in a long, silver-threaded cape to give her more bulk and, beneath, she had sewn some polished wooden sticks, snapped off a little footstool, to the bottom of her sandals. She had done this to give herself height, to appear more like Sydney. The effect she found rather flattering, despite making walking a little precarious. She was thus feeling rather pleased with herself.

Nevertheless, Claudia wobbled dangerously and nearly lost her balance when she saw how many people were out there. Citizens, servants and soldiers were milling together - there certainly seem to be more soldiers than usual, but then, Sydney _had_ ordered that the temple be well guarded. Towards the back, were a large group of hooded men whose faces she could not see.

'Ugh,' thought Claudia with a shiver. 'Not traveling lepers! If they ask me to touch them and heal them like they do Sydney, I'll scream!'

Nevertheless, it was only when her focus fell upon a group of toga-wearing elders and she identified the bald head and serious countenance of her father that she stiffened with terror. But it was too late now. She had to go through with it!

'Hallo… my people!' called the representative of the goddess in a gruff but strangely squeaky voice. 'I'm a little off-colour today. I've been communing with the goddess for you lot in the deep caves for a long time, and I think I've caught a chill!'

'We sincerely appreciate the sacrifice the Sybil makes for us, and hope she will recover quickly.'

Instantly realising the voice was her father's, Claudia fanned herself vigorously with her laurel leaf, and sincerely hoped she would be recognized.

'I will be well again soon,' she ventured. 'But I don't want the strain of many questions. Just two, and I'll be off and you can go about your, um, business!'

Her father, the most important citizen, naturally asked the first question in a grave voice: 'Oh, great Sybil! Rumours reach us that the island is under threat. The new governor of Neapolis wishes to annex Camae as part of his dominions and his armies will be here within days. Is there truth in this?'

'No way!' thought Claudia. Sydney said that nasty man had gone after treasure and wouldn't bother her for at least a week. Besides, Sydney never said anything about an army so it couldn't be true! Her friend would never leave her so vulnerable.

'It's all rubbish!' her voice sounded unavoidably high-pitched. 'But, err, just in case, an offering of pretty clothes, jewels and sandals should be brought to the temple… err, in your daughter's size!'

'Oh, of course, great Sybil!' replied Claudia's papa, now rather confused. 'I will do as you say.'

'Great!' Claudia beamed under her mask. 'Only one more question, then, because the goddess wants a word with me and I have to dash.'

Several hands waved in the air including those of a high priest, and one of the wealthiest merchants on the island. Claudia panicked slightly - who should she pick? - before her mind was instantly made up.

There, towards the back, was her blue-eyed, buff-bodied goatherd, jumping up and down and waving enthusiastically. Her heart did a somersault; everybody else on the temple forecourt vanished to her. As when she spied him the other day, he was wearing nothing apart from a cloth around the waist and a reddish fur cape slung low around his neck. Also like before, she was completely smitten by the way his auburn curls dusted his shoulders and by each sculpted muscle on his sturdy thighs and torso.

'You!' she cried authoritatively, pointing straight at him. 'The divine goatherd!'

There was a surprised buzz from the crowd. Some were angry that the Sybil had given one so lowly her attention when there was so little time, but others were more speculative. What did the great Sybil know to call this man 'divine?'

'What do you want to ask me?' The 'Sybil's' voice was babyish and coy; Claudia's lashes flustered against the inside of the stifling mask.

The goatherd himself was so shocked at being asked that he nearly swallowed his tongue. 'Uh…err…oh!' he stuttered. 'Several of my goats are ill. I wondered what I should do?'

'_That_ is a serious problem!' cried Claudia emphatically. 'It is one I shall attend to personally. Meet me in the marketplace - just before sunset tonight. We'll talk _all_ about it then!'

The hum of voices swelled: it was unprecedented that the Sybil should meet such a low companion in a public place. Many were now sure that the goatherd was some sort of demigod! The young man himself merely gaped in disbelief, as the Sybil gave a cute little wave and tripped back through the curtain, not stumbling once on her teetering heels.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the moments after Hera vanished Sydney stood motionless, grasping at the roots of her mind for a plan. It was Nigel who collapsed his knees first, his hands clasped to his stomach: 'I'm doomed! Those berries - I ate dozens of them!'

Sydney crouched beside him, her face scrunched in discomfort as her tummy churned. 'It's going to be alright,' she gasped, her pain obvious. 'There is an antidote, a little white flower that grows in these mountains… Myrrha. I must…find it…quickly…ugh!'

She groaned and toppled onto her side her arms folded across her convulsing middle.

'Sydney!' Nigel leant over her in a quandary. Despite his initial shock, he didn't feel ill at all - but Sydney was in obvious agony. 'What… what should I do?'

'A little… white… flower… with wide petals and a…wispy tongue…' Sydney choked out the words with great difficulty.

'I'll find it,' promised Nigel. He ran his fingers jutteringly down the full length of her hair, and then stumbled to his feet and started scanning the surrounding scrubland.

He was so scared and confused he could barely focus. It just didn't make sense. _He_ had eaten the whole basket, yet Sydney had been felled by just five berries! 'Maybe Hera poisoned only the ones she ate?' he wondered. 'Maybe the Goddess is still cross about the Harpies…or maybe I ate so many I can feel nothing and any second I will drop stone dead!' Before he panicked, however, Sydney's pained cries slapped him back to the urgency of the task in hand.

He searched for some time with little success. Just as he was about to despair of finding anything but brown, stubby grass and twiggy bushes with purple buds, he spotted a clump of delicate white blooms, nestling in a crack between some lichen covered rocks.

His pulse now racing as fast as when Kafka pursued him, Nigel pried the tiny flowers from the rocks with fumbling hands and half ran, half tumbled back down the mountain to where Sydney lay.

Her appearance shocked him. Although she had not left her long, she now lay curled in a crumpled ball, her limbs folded into her stomach as if to try and squash the pain away. Her skin was turned yellow and sallow, her full lips dry. Breath came only in thick, agonized retches.

Nigel froze. Was it too late?

Then her dulled eyes dragged themselves to meet his. Though clenched teeth, she forced a smile.

'Grind the juice…from the flower…' The words seemed to drain the last of her energy. Nevertheless, although her contorted limbs fell limp, her dimming gaze stayed upon him, imploring, ever hopeful.

Nigel was unable to find words, but he knew there was no time to dither. He quickly found two small rocks and squashed the flower between them. When he pulled the upper stone away a miniscule patch of damp had formed beneath the desecrated petals.

He carried the rock to Sydney and held it up to her lips for her to lick. She sealed them together, and shook her head, weakly but resolutely.

'You must have it first.'

'But there's not enough ' insisted Nigel. 'And there's no point going on without you anyway.'

'You must…the prophecy…'

'Damn the prophecy!' He pressed the rock so that the tiny trace of liquid smeared into her dry mouth then pulled away as, by reflex, she licked her lips.

'Thank the Gods,' muttered Nigel, although his patient looked all the more distressed.

'Nigel… you have to kiss me… there should still…be a trace …for you…'

He was adamant in his refusal: 'No. You need at all. Your life is worth so much more than mine. Besides, the poison hasn't worked on me.'

Sydney felt too exhausted to argue any longer. As the wrenching pain in her stomach began to quell, she let him pull her into his arms. She felt unfamiliarly small and weak, yet reassured by his closeness and comfortingly, intimately safe. Her last memory that evening was of resting her cheek against Nigel's warm chest and the sound of him humming softly as he stroked her hair.

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thanks for those reviews. Love you guys – and sorry for going to bed too early to catch up with all the best gossip! Oh, and I saved this update for when you got back, Shivani - I missed you ;)**

**Warning: minor gore!**

CHAPTER SEVEN:

Sydney was awoken by the pungent odour of meat and woodsmoke and by the soft kiss of morning sunlight on her cheek.

'Morning!' she thought in alarm. They ought to be on the road!

She sat up quickly, threading her fingers through tangled, dampish hair, to see Nigel standing a little distance off. He was proudly overseeing what appeared to be a wild boar spit roasting over a fire.

On seeing that she was awake, he appeared extremely cheerful: 'Good morning, Sydney! How are you feeling today?'

'Better,' croaked Sydney, rubbing a rather bloated stomach. 'Err, what's going on?'

'Breakfast!' beamed Nigel, turning the spit quickly then leaping away, blowing scorched fingers.

A little baffled, Sydney glanced upwards to see the sun was already high in the sky. 'I'm afraid there's no time for breakfast,' she said seriously. 'I wish you'd woken me earlier rather than sitting here cooking!'

Nigel cringed. 'Sorry, I knew you'd be angry, but you just wouldn't wake up… and, well, you nearly died last night! You need to give yourself a small amount of respite. I did carry you just a little further onwards in the early hours of the morning, before I had trouble with the boar…'

'You carried me?' queried Sydney.

'Yes. Over my shoulder.'

Sydney stifled her surprise, conjecturing that Nigel was sturdy enough, despite his boyish looks. 'And how did you catch the boar?'

Nigel puffed out his cheeks and shook his head, signifying that he was as surprised by it all as her. 'It was luck, I think. I'd just laid you down for a rest and suddenly I heard this snuffling. Of course, I was terrified - the moon was bright, but I couldn't see where it was coming from. Somehow, though, I quickly sensed it wasn't…him… I was pretty sure it was an animal, though, and a big one. So I grabbed a log, and swung about madly, beating into the bushes. I must have caught him in just the wrong – or right - spot, because the next thing I knew there was this beast lying there dead!'

'Well done Nigel! I suppose it would have been a waste not to eat the meat.'

'Quite,' he agreed, leaning over the now charred and crackling carcass and carving off a slice. 'By this time, my stomach was rumbling so loud I was scared it would start another avalanche! So I made sure you were comfortable and, um, cooked.'

He handed her the prime cut and a bowl of crystal clear water, collected from a nearby stream. Although it was not quite what she wanted for breakfast, Sydney received it with thanks and began to chew on the tough flesh. Her stomach, predictably, lurched uncomfortably as the strong, meaty flavour overwhelmed her mouth and throat. Putting the meat aside, she took a large gulp of water and found it tasted fresh, crisp and immeasurably good.

'Not keen on my roast boar, then?' asked Nigel, knawing enthusiastically on a chunky leg.

'Err, not at this hour,' grimaced Sydney.

'I don't blame you,' he conceded. 'I think my stomach might turn at the prospect if it wasn't so famished.' He shot her nervous smile, then dipped his eyes away. 'I'm so glad you're awake. If Kafka had found me when you were still unconscious, it would have been… unthinkable. '

'I don't know what I would have done if a whole patrol caught up with this,' admitted Sydney. After a moment she added: 'Wouldn't you have thought of something? You should at least try to fight back.'

He shrugged. 'I'm not much of a fighter. When I was little, I used to scrap with my stepbrother, but he was so much older and bigger than me that I always lost badly. Then, one day, when we were about eight, I became so angry I punched him. I knocked out two teeth!' He laughed ruefully. 'My uncle gave me such a thrashing I never bothered fighting back again.'

'Your uncle sounds like a bit of a tyrant.'

Nigel sighed heavily, and gazed back down into the flames. 'He's a fair and just ruler, as I'm sure my brother will be. I don't think either of them much liked my mother, though. She was my father's second wife, and they were together only a short while before she died… giving birth to me. Soon after that, my father died himself - of grief, so they said. I'm not sure either my uncle or my brother ever forgave me.'

'How could they blame a baby for that?' Sydney bristled with righteous anger. 'Was your aunt kind to you?'

A misty affection glimmered over Nigel's countenance. 'Yes. As high priestess she could never marry or have children of her own and so she loved me dearly - and I her.'

'I'd like to meet her someday,' smiled Sydney.

'I think she'd like that!' smiled Nigel, cheered at the prospect. 'She has yellowy-white hair and is nearly as broad as she is high... sort of round and cuddly. But she's very beautiful… in a very different way to you, of course. For two priestesses, you couldn't be more different. In fact, I think you'd shock her a bit!'

'I expect I would,' giggled Sydney.

Nigel took a deep, lingering breath; Sydney could tell he was still thinking of the mother-figure he'd left behind. 'I was surprised when she picked me for this important mission of my brother,' he continued. 'But she said I was more trustworthy. I was so proud… but very nervous!'

'Well, you've already vindicated her trust.' Sydney rose slowly and started brushing grass and seeds from her clothing. 'You're a special person, Nigel and you have qualities far rarer than the base aggression required to be a fighter and, sometimes, that's what wins through. I'm sure you aunt realised that - you must have the faith in yourself that she had.'

Nigel blushed slightly, but her words made him feel warm inside and helped quell a renewed pang for home. Sydney, on the other hand, was now surveying their situation. From a standing position, she could now see that they were on a plateau, still on the side of the mountains. Nevertheless, ahead of her was now a vast, brown plain, desert like in its barrenness. Lifting her hand above her eyes to shade them from the increasingly scorching sun, she squinted at the far horizon. In the haze, she could just make out the fuzzy outlines of seven hills.

'The hills mentioned in the prophecy,' she murmured. 'I can see them! Which means…' She broke off, momentarily stunned. 'Which means that we have already reached the far side of the mountains! You have carried me many leagues!'

'I must have found a secret pass, then, because I don't think I could carry you that far. Or maybe the maps were wrong.'

Sydney regarded him curiously. 'You know, Nigel, that may be so, but I think the gods really are on our side… apart from Hera of course! All the same, we mustn't linger. We still need to cross the plain today if we are to keep on our schedule, and it's a long and arduous trek!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Claudia was so excited she could barely think at all. She tried on a dozen different chitons, in every colour of the rainbow, until she settled happily on a pinky-purple one. She then painted her lips and cheeks a pale pink, and wound a thin ribbon through her hair that displayed a tiny but exquisite diamond in the middle of her forehead. It was a gift from papa - from whom more were expected soon!

She sighed happily at her reflection in the mirror - at last she looked perfect! It was high time too, as it was nearly dusk. She slipped her prettiest sandals on her feet, now with high heels attached - she was thrilled about her fashion invention - and left her little dressing room. She was soon weaving her way through the many rooms and corridors of the temple towards the back entrance.

She groaned inwardly, however, when she heard a familiar humming sound followed by the singsong words: 'May I assist you, Miss Claudia?'

'I'm just going for walk in the garden, Georgus! I wish you wouldn't follow me about like this. It's scary. Girls hate men who creep around you know, as much as they hate mouldy old music!'

'Sorry Lady Claudia - are you sure you wouldn't like to listen to me play? everyone loves 'the king's' music when they get to know it!'

Claudia was almost impressed by his thick skin, but not quite. 'I don't want to hear it!' she articulated, slowly and rather patronizingly, as if she was speaking to a small child. 'I'm just going into the garden so I'll be fine on my own.'

'But Sydney asked me to make sure you were safe so I'd better come in the garden with you.'

'No! Please don't do that?' Claudia managed a guilty smile. 'Well, maybe I'll stay here for now. That's safest of all, isn't it? Byee!'

Claudia sprinted back towards the quarters. She felt a bit mean for her words – she knew that Georgus didn't deserve it, despite his annoyingness - but she just had to get away.

She listened in the door until his humming and tootling faded into the distance, then tripped straight over to the window and eased herself through onto the flower bed beneath. She then cursed as her high heels caught in the mud, and stumbled over the little stones and flowers.

'These sandals maybe the most important invention since Cleopatra's eyeliner,' she thought herself. 'But I'd better avoid all running and climbing!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was a long, stifling trek across the sparse, desert-like wilderness. Despite the intense heat, Sydney and Nigel found themselves pulling their hoods up over their heads just to keep off the pounding rays of the sun.

At the same time, their small triumphs over Kafka and Hera fuelled them both with a new determination, even if neither seemed likely to prove a decisive victory. Despite Nigel's regular complaints about the heat, their spirits were high, as was his curiosity about Sydney's endlessly fascinating past.

'So do you normally work alone?' He asked after a lengthy account of her single-handedly uncovering an oar from the cloud-skirting boat of Iris, the messenger Goddess.

'It's usually best that way. Of course, I have Claudia, who helps me with research at the temple… well, she sort of helps when she's in the mood.' She shared an amused, knowing smile. 'Once I took her on what I thought was a safe little hunt, after a spear cast by Ares in battle at Sparta. It had been lost for hundreds of years, and the God never sought to retrieve it. Unfortunately, just as we closed in on the relic, he suddenly turned up to stir up trouble - and you know what? She became completely infatuated by him! I literally had to drag her back to Camae before he carried her off – willingly - to the underworld. She just wouldn't listen to me when I tried to explain he was a vicious, violence-loving God of war - she thought he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen, and probably wouldn't have noticed if he'd laid waste to half of Greece!

'Then, sometimes, I team up with other relic hunters on my quests - believe it or not, Stewie and I once went after the golden dice of Caerus, God of Fortune! Needless to say, the dice ended up rolling in his direction and I didn't see him for the dust flying up from his boots! I won't be teaming up with Stewie again.'

'I don't blame you!' laughed Nigel. 'Stewie would con the cloak off your back, given half a chance. I'm not sure I trust anybody in this part of the world - except you, of course.'

'Thanks!' She favoured him with an affectionate smile as she paused to pull one of the water skins from her pack. She offered it to Nigel, who was looking extremely hot and bothered. Sweat was trickling down his forehead and his tunic was sticking to his back; under his hood, his hair felt sodden.

Despite this, he insisted: 'You first.' She shrugged her appreciation, took a deep gulp of warm but much-needed liquid, and then handed it over. As he downed it hungrily, she slipped down her hood and squinted across the plain in the direction of the seven little hills.

'We're not going to make it across the plain by nightfall,' she observed. 'But a swift trek before sunrise tomorrow ought to do it. How far do you think you can go this afternoon?'

Nigel gazed across the plain at the coveted greener land. Easing down his hood for a better view, the heat pounded down upon him, intensifying the dull ache that already filled his head, and bringing with it a wave of nausea.

The hills were still so hazy they hardly looked real. Indeed, they barely seem to have got closer despite a whole morning's trek. He vaguely imagined they would never get there; they were a paradise, the Summerlands - always sought after, and never attained, at least not without crossing the tumultuous vale of death.

'It's still leagues and leagues away,' he whined, turning back towards her. 'We'll never make it…'

'We will, I promise… what is it?'

Nigel was now staring in the direction they had come, where the sunlight was strongest. With an abrupt movement, he pointed back towards the mountains. 'Err, what's that?'

'What's what?' She could see nothing through the dazzling light.

A frisson of dread compelled Sydney to strain her vision to its limits. It was then she saw them: shapes, black shadows against shimmering yellow, with long, flapping wings. Distant shrieks confirmed her suspicions.

'Harpies! Hera must have sent them!'

'Oh… Oh! Nigel just stared at her, his hands slightly raised in panic. 'What do we do? There's no shelter… they'll peck our eyes out!'

'We're going to have to fight!' Sydney was already assembling her bow.

'I can't! I'm hopeless…'

'No you're not!' She thrust the weapon and a quiver of arrows into his hands. 'Ever used one of these before?'

'Well, err, yes actually…'

'Great!'

'But I was never one for hunting like my brother and the other boys. I preferred reading… '

'Well, you're about to become a great hunter, Nigel. Shoot anything that comes near!'

'What if I miss?'

'Don't… but if you do, don't dwell on it. Just shoot again!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Claudia's heels weren't much good on cobbled streets, either. Having slipped through the garden as quickly as she could, however, she was soon tottering precariously up the steep streets of the city of Camae, which nestled the slopes of the mountain beyond the temple.

Her sandals clapped loudly on the stones and, even with her grace, it was difficult not to stumble. As she approached the marketplace, she slowed her pace in order to evoke the utmost poise. Nothing else in the world mattered but that the 'divine goatherd' would be swept away by her - he would love her instantly, as she loved him! Just to be sure, she said a silent prayer to whichever goddess would listen.

The large town square, which contained the marketplace, was nearly deserted. All the stallholders had long gone and only a small group of older citizens milled about in the near corner, laughing, chatting and drinking. On the far-side, however, there was a sturdy figure dressed in her goatherd's familiar red-fur cape. He had his back to her.

Claudia paused a moment. The legs seemed rather stockier then she remembered - less lithe, and a little more brawny. Yet, it must be him she told herself, and she allowed herself a squeal of joy: 'He's there! Waiting for me…'

It was difficult not to run, but Claudia just about maintained her dignity as she glided across the square, her lips curving into a delighted, smug little smile.

'I won't say anything,' she decided. 'I'll just stand there, like a goddess, and let him make the first move – then he'll see me, and it'll be so romantic!'

She waited until she was so close that he would not have to raise his voice to address her, then she stopped. Raising her hand to her glossy, red mouth, she gave a hiccupping, little cough.

The object of her affection began to turn towards her agonisingly slowly, slipping the cloak from his head.

The sight that greeted her was not that of her fine-featured, youthful goatherd. Instead, a rugged, unshaven face, creased with age and scarred with battle, leered at her malevolently.

Claudia opened her mouth to scream but a hand so large it smothered both her mouth and nose clamped down on her from behind. Stricken with terror, she could do little more than whimper as a sword flashed towards her swan-like neck.

At the same instant, however, the ugly man who wasn't her goatherd gave a shout: 'Wait! It's not the Sybil - it's the little blonde assistant. Kafka wants her alive, remember?'

The sword was withdrawn. So was the hand was instantly replaced by a rough gag. Weak with terror, she found herself being thrown over a massive shoulder as easily as if she was a light sack of grain.

Shock intermingling with hysteria, she pounded her little fists and kicked as viciously she could. It had no effect on the massive, armoured man who carried her. Although she could lift her head, she could see little apart from the upside-down back of the warrior who carried her, the sword at his side and the cobbles. Tears welled in her eyes as she heard her captor cackle: 'Kafka will be pleased with his pretty little prize!'

Nevertheless, Claudia could sense there were other things happening around her. People from the corner of the square were coming over, shouting their concern. One particularly heavy set of footsteps came thundering close.

'Put her down!' came a gruff but unmistakable voice.

'Georgus!' Claudia tried to call his name but ended up biting into her gag.

There was a metallic scrape as swords were drawn - even Claudia realised the odds were bad. At least a dozen of Kafka's men seemed to be surrounding her, challenged only by unarmed civilians and one guard.

The clashing noise of blade hitting blade was over all too quickly, followed by a low moan and a thud.

'No! You're a nice man,' she thought as she sobbed. 'I even like your music really… please don't be dead!'

The townspeople were screaming and running away now. Nobody dared face the soldiers.

'Perfect,' she heard a nearby voice say. 'We can use the guardman's outfit to enter the temple, and get the map and information. Make sure the witnesses don't talk!'

Heavy boots departed in all directions, but Claudia realised she was still encircled by at least six soldiers - and they were departing the marketplace swiftly.

One, horrific, vision that filled her mind as she was carried away: the fresh, red blood of the man who tried to save her - the same kind man she had derided - flowing between the gaps in the cobblestones.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sydney drew her sword and turned to face the oncoming menace. She could now count seven Harpies and clearly see their long, dexterous wings, breaking through the hot air like ocean waves in a storm. Long necks, curved, hooklike claws, and unnaturally girlish faces were also visible - each one was laughing, a hideous cackling noise, reminiscent of the death rattle of a poisonous snake. They moved fast, against the breeze.

She darted a look at Nigel - he was plainly terrified. His bow was not raised or aimed, but rather hung limply at his side. She dashed over and seized him by the arm, forcing him to face her. 'You've got to fight! We can beat them. I'll take the front line with my sword. Stand back a little and try to pick them off, one by one. Everything will be just fine…'

He nodded wanly; she grinned, swallowing her own fear, raised her blade and charged.

As the Harpies spied her rush at them, they began crying her name in eery, hissing voices: ' Sydney! Sydney! Sydney!'

'Yeah , I get the message! Hera's pretty mad with me - well, I'm not so happy about the little bout of tummy ache she gave me yesterday. So let's call it quits, huh?'

This just enraged them. They spiralled down towards her, their rushing, flapping bodies taking on the formation of a screeching tornado. The first one set upon her with an ear-piercing scream. Its razor-sharp claws aimed straight at her face.

'Nice birdie!'

Sydney growled, swiped once with her sword and the Harpie's head plummeted to the floor. Its body hovered for a moment's, its wings still flapping like a headless chicken. Then it crumpled into a gory heap.

Nigel stomach wrenched as he saw the blood run thick on the sand, but this was no time for sensibility. The rest of the Harpies screamed in anger; sure that they would come straight for him next, he aimlessly raised his bow in self-defence. But none came. They all swarmed down upon Sydney.

She hacked wildly about herself, swiping at wings and necks but not repeating her initial success. Six against one, the odds were stacked against her - as she lunged at the claws of one snarling attacker, another bit into her arm with pointy teeth; knife-like talons ripped into the flesh of her thigh. She jabbed the lower attacker with a dagger, and swiped off the leg of the other with her sword, debilitating it.

'Nigel?' she yelled. 'A little help?'

Unbeknownst to her, two arrows had already ploughed vaguely in her direction, but missed their marks by a long way. Nigel was shaking so much he could scarcely hold the bow steady, let alone aim. He was frantic, but he felt useless.

Then he heard Sydney, cry out, a long wail of distress. She chopped desperately at a laughing Harpie who was beating her down with its wings, allowing another to swipe its claws at her face.

He had to help her.

Resolution quelling his panic, he took a deep breath, raised his bow and aimed. All the world disappeared but the white, quivering, feathered chest of the Harpie.

'Twang!'

The arrow cut cleanly through the air and hit home. The Harpie hung a moment in the air, her wings still flapping and her face distorted in an agonised frenzy. Scarlet exploded over the white feathers of her chest and she dropped to the sand with a grisly, sickening thud.

'Good shot!' yelled Sydney, still fighting for her life. 'Any chance of another?'

Nigel nodded wordlessly and, struggling to retain his serenity above a sea of panic, he picked out another Harpie. Unable to get a clear sight line of her chest, he aimed for the neck, where the pink of female flesh merged unnaturally with downy feathers. The sight sickened him - he hated to kill, but he knew he must. He hit home again.

'Wow!' Sydney was impressed and the Harpie's were dismayed. Bouyed, she severed the head of another. Nigel, hardly believing his luck, picked off two more. Then there was one - the loudest, and most sharp voiced, who zoomed off high into the air.

'Shoot her!' yelled Sydney.

'But…but… she's retreating! It wouldn't be right…'

'For the love of Gaia, Nigel. Just do it!'

He aimed and shot, but the arrow - his last - went wide.

The Harpie wailed with laughter. Sydney snarled and hurled her sword towards her - with such force as it flew nearly as straight as a spear - but the bird woman wheeled easily out of the way.

'Hera wants you dead!' cackled the Harpie.

'Yeah, well - even goddesses don't always get what they want!'

The Harpie merely laughed again, turned a full circle in the air and let her wide-wings carry her towards the heavens on the swirling currents of the air.

'Some women!' retorted Sydney watching the servant of Hera fade to a tiny speck - then she collapsed to her knees.

Nigel rushed over. 'Sydney, you're bleeding!'

'Yeah, just a little…'

Nigel crouched down beside her, and swiftly ran his eyes over her many injuries. There was a nasty gash on her right arm, a deep, bleeding cut on her leg, and she was covered in numerous scratches, including one above her left eye. 'It's more than a little,' he countered, yanking off his cloak and ripping a strip off the bottom. She held out her bleeding arm.

'Nothing's life-threatening,' she confirmed, but she grimaced at the pain when he began bandaging.

His hands, although damp with sweat, felt soothing and gentle, but it was the sight of him - his pursed lips and his brow furrowed with concentration as he tried not to hurt her - that cheered her the most. She'd never met a man like him before, seemingly so nervous and clumsy, but really possessed of such quiet talent and skill. A man who would hesitate to kill even his mortal enemy…

Without thinking, she raised her hand to his cheek and dusted it lightly with her fingertips. His eyes instantly locked to hers.

'Did… did I hurt you?'

A little smile curved on her lips. 'No, I was just thinking…'

She shifted a little closer, dropping her fingers to his bare, rounded shoulders, which had begun to tan attractively, even under his cloak. His smooth skin glistened with perspiration. Suddenly, his hands slipped from where he'd finished bandaging her leg, and she felt him tentatively stroke her ankle before withdrawing his touch completely.

He licked his lips nervously. 'Sydney, what…what are you thinking?'

'Uh… oh, I don't know. I suppose I was thinking that I've just found the perfect assistant - somebody I can trust watch my back, help me with my research, and always be there.'

' Oh!' He smiled, relief almost swamping his disappointment. 'Well, I'm flattered. But I should think you'd want somebody who is a better shot. I'm sorry about earlier.'

Sydney narrowed her eyes. 'Maybe you were a little slow off the mark, but I think you're a fantastic shot - when you put your mind to it! You also a natural with languages and your knowledge of history is better than most native-born Greeks. We make a good team.'

'Thank you, but I think you've overestimated my talents.'

'No, I haven't… what is it now?'

Sydney's hand flew to the hilt of her sword as she saw Nigel focus on something beyond her shoulder. However, this time it was revulsion, rather than fear that crumpled across his face.

'There is a pile of grisly great carcasses behind you! They are starting to smell and, uh, attract flies!' He swatted at a buzzing menace that was dive-bombing, her hair. 'So I suggest we get out of here.'

'Good idea! She laughed, taking his hand and letting him help her to her feet. 'Oh, hold on…'

Retrieving her pack from where it had been discarded before the fight, she pulled out one of the water skins, and emptied the last drop into her mouth. She then hurried over to the bloodied bodies of the harpies. 'Uh, you might not want to watch this…'

Nigel winced and turned quickly - his nausea returning - as Sydney filled the bottle with the life-blood of one of the headless bird women. He didn't turn back until he sensed her beside him.

'I don't even want to know what that was for!'

'Harpies' blood is a deadly poison - you never know when it might come in useful. In very small drops it can also be a most efficient sleeping potion.'

'Fair enough,' groaned Nigel. 'No doubt it will come in handy.'

'No doubt!'

She then picked up the discarded bow and empty quiver of arrows and handed it to him. 'I think you should keep this. If you save my life for a third time, maybe I won't make you my assistant - I'll make you my partner!'

'Now there's an offer! Does that mean I get to stay at the temple and spent time with Claudia and the books?'

Nigel replied jokily, but her words made him glow inside. Her teasing smile and laughing eyes filled his vision, long after she concealed them again beneath her hood. He was sure she must know by now that she didn't need to make him her partner - he'd follow her to the ends of the Earth. To her, only her, he'd be a willing slave.

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for those reviews.**

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Claudia sobbed and sniffled until there were no tears left to cry. Even then, she continued to whimper.

She was alone with her thoughts and fears - she hated being alone! She'd been carried straight to the ship and deposited in a little cabin by herself, with only a blanket to sit upon and a porthole so small she could barely see the stars. Although they had taken the gag off, all she'd been given to eat was a boring sort of bread. She'd been served a _very_ mediocre goblet of wine.

'How could this happen to me?' she wondered. 'This is the sort of thing that happened in stories, to criminals or slaves, or to poor unfortunates like Nigel who just seem to attract trouble. It didn't happen to her, the youngest daughter of Citizen Agaue, Camae's wealthiest citizen. Not to Claudia!

She tried to tell herself that things could not get worse, but deep inside she knew they could. Nobody had hurt her, or even touched her, since she'd been brought on the ship - not like they'd hurt Georgus! Poor Georgus - she desperately hoped he wasn't dead, and tried to deny the possibility. But she just couldn't stop thinking about that blood, and how he would never have even been there if it hadn't been for her. It was just too awful.

Suddenly, the ship pitched steeply sideways and she realised they were setting sail. The thread from which dangled her hope of a swift rescue snapped, and she could think of nothing else to do but cry again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Despite his extreme tiredness - exasperated by the matter that he'd hardly had any sleep the night before - Nigel's mind was so buzzing with the events of the day that he did not instantly drop off to sleep. Instead, he lay and watched the dying embers of the fire as the last of the kindling wood blackened, curled then evaporated into the air.

Sydney, on the other hand, apparently fell asleep quickly and Nigel found his focus irresistibly drawn to her. Curled on her side, and with her head resting on a pool of her long, sleek hair, her features were so peaceful that they could almost have been those of an innocent little girl. Maybe that's what she is at heart, he mused whimsically: pure of soul, despite the experienced facade of his guide and mentor.

Immersed in such dreamlike thoughts, he finally nodded off - although not for long. It seemed only a second later when Nigel was awoken by a scuffling noise, which he instantly realised was louder and much more purposeful than the wild boar he had encountered on the previous night.

Nigel's concerns grew when, on opening his eyes, his sightline was blocked by the bare, muscular legs of a tall man with a sword slung from his waist, apparently fumbling through Sydney's satchel.

He tautened with terror when the man took a step to the side to reveal that Sydney was gone.

Nigel held his breath, desperately trying to think straight. If he let the man know he was awake, or drew any sort of attention to himself, surely he'd just kill him? But what if Sydney was captured and suffering? He couldn't do _nothing_…

As silently as he could, he eased his hand towards a small rock, one of several that they had used to mark the edges of the fire and wrapped his fingers tentatively around it. If he jumped up and caught the man on the back of his head quickly, he might just have a chance…

Suddenly, a slender figure - Sydney, he was sure – flew out of the bushes. She clashed straight into the man and felled him with the force of the impact.

Nigel jumped to his feet, the rock in his hand, as she grappled with the intruder. The combatants rolled across the ground, dangerously near the still-hot ashes. Nevertheless, he could not see well enough to strike and the last thing he wanted was to debilitate Sydney.

As he dithered, Nigel saw flashes of metal; pale light briefly illuminated shapely, fast moving limbs. In moments, Sydney and the aggressor were on their feet again, their features darkened by shadow, facing each other down. He could hear them both panting heavily. Sydney growled, feral like a hunting cat, and then pounced.

Springing forward onto her hands, she executed a perfect somersault, landing behind her confused enemy. The knife was at his throat in an instant, its blade glistening in the white, dusky beams of the moon.

Nigel was awestruck; Sydney was just plain angry. 'Who are you and what do you want?'

'Hey, Loria – back off! It's me! I just, uh, didn't want to wake you!'

As if these words - and the use of Sydney's relic hunter pseudonym - didn't shock Nigel enough, he could now see the attacker was a well built, youngish man, wearing a fashionable, fur-lined cloak and a broad-brimmed leather hat, which was now knocked completely off kilter. The man flashed a white, toothy grin.

'Dallasus!' snarled Sydney. 'What in Gaia's name are you doing poking around in my stuff?'

'I heard a little rumour that there were plentiful treasures up for grabs in this part of the world. I didn't think you'd mind, err, sharing your information.' Sydney merely snorted and didn't withdraw the knife. 'Hey, _I _can be a sharing man!' he pleaded. 'Remember Pompeii?'

'Yeah, I remember, but you thought wrong…' Sydney trailed off as Nigel gave a strangulated cry. A chunky arm seized from behind, and he found himself clamped against the chest of another, fur-clad robber who held a dagger tight against his throat.

'I suggest you let my friend go, Loria,' leered a heavily Germanian-accented voice. 'Or I will seriously reduce the monetary value of your slaveboy by spilling every drop of his blood!'

'I'm not a slave!' whined Nigel, indignant despite everything. 'I'm a prince…' He broke off as he felt the cold, sharp blade nick into his flesh. Maybe that speech was better saved.

'Reinud!' gasped Sydney. 'Since when have you two spawn of Hades been working together?'

'Since today. We heard from Kafka's men that you knew the location of the Tree of Life, and had gone after it and all its legendary treasures with some slave. Now, that treasure is going to be _ours_... but if you want 'in', you can take a quarter.'

'Yeah,' croaked Dallasus. 'So, uh, if you just let me go, maybe we could strike a deal. This is our shot at immortality, Loria - if we find this Tree, we'll be more famous than the Gods themselves!'

'I'm not letting you go until Reinud releases my _assistant_…who, incidentally, is NOT my slave.'

'Really?' queried Reinud, yanking back Nigel's head by the hair so he could see him better. 'He doesn't look like your usual type…'

'Let him go!'

Reinud shrugged, withdrew the blade and shoved Nigel away from him. Nigel turned and glared, shaken but very angry indeed: 'How dare you! I'm not a slave! I'm a princeling of the kingdom of Hedunwulf…'

'Hedenwulf?' smirked Reinud. 'Isn't his domain part of that rain-sodden isle at the end of the earth? There's nothing even worth plundering there - I heard the people were so primitive they worshipped stones!'

'Rubbish!' snapped Nigel. 'Our temples are a little, uh, stoney, I will admit, but they follow the most sophisticated circular designs, and are dedicated to the most powerful of the gods! We also, incidentally, lead the know-world in hilltop, wooden architecture and are very innovative with mud and dung roofing techniques…'

He trailed off as Sydney landed a gentle hand of his shoulder and whispered in his ear that it just wasn't worth it. She kept quiet, though, about her extreme surprise that anybody had even heard of Nigel's little kingdom! Dallasus winked at him: 'A prince, huh? I bet that's a winner with all the ladies!' Nigel found his anger fading, at least towards the taller and more pleasant looking of the two men.

'Right,' began Sydney in a businesslike fashion. 'Let's get one thing straight. There's no deal. I can tell you now that it will be completely impossible for you to help with this quest.' She shot a hard glare at Reinud. 'And I promise you, there is no gold, silver, bags of coins, or anything shiny involved - whatever you've heard from the gossips of Neapolis.'

'I don't believe you,' stated Reinud.

'That's your misfortune!'

'Come on,' grinned Dallasus, pushing in close so he stood face-to-face with her. Drenched in moonlight, the tall, roguishly handsome man and the svelte beauty resembled the perfect pair of lovers - at least, Nigel begrudgingly thought so. 'You don't expect me to trust you after _Alexandria_? I woke up in the morning, you, Cleopatra's snake-charming vase, and the whole harem of dancing girls were gone!'

'Yeah, only after you double crossed me before,' growled Sydney. 'I wanted my vase back - and those women deserved their liberty.'

'They weren't even my slaves! I still have the irate owner on my trail, but still… it was good while it lasted, huh?' He stared deep into her eyes.

'It wasn't bad…' breathed Sydney, as his lips drew ever closer to hers. Then, as Nigel cringed with repulsion, Reinud grabbed Sydney's other arm and swivelled her to face him.

'It couldn't have been as fine as Carthage! Remember the wine, the moonlight, the Punic idol of solid gold…'

'That wasn't bad either,' she murmured. With heavy eyelids and parted lips she returned his imploring gaze. 'You know - maybe we _could _come to some sort of arrangement.'

'I don't believe I'm hearing this!' spluttered Nigel. Nevertheless, a serious 'I know what I'm doing' glare from Sydney reduced his protests to mumbles.

'Let's talk about this over a drink!' She articulated the final words very clearly, looking straight at Nigel. He nodded quickly, and finally fell quiet.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At length, Clauda's sobs dissolved into sniffles and, curling into a little ball of silky clothes, golden hair and slender limbs, the sniffles finally evaporated into a disbelieving sleep.

She never sensed the ship dock at Neapolis and only awoke when she heard a loud metallic tap followed by an ominous creaking.

A high-pitched gasp escaping her throat as her eyes flew open. She found herself squinting against a bright light flooding the chamber and a shadowy, broad shouldered finger standing in the doorway.

'Ow!' she moaned, shielding her eyes.

Her vision blurred, and her mind still addled by sleep, her annoyance stirred even harder than fear: she jumped to her feet, pitting two little fists defiantly into her tiny waist:

'You'd better take me home right now! I don't care what the ugly hook-handed man wants - not only am I the Sybil's assistant, my Papa, Citizen Agaue, is the most powerful man on Camae. And he's _very _rich…'

'Is that so?'

'Uh…yes. Who are you?'

The voice was familiar and, as her eyes adjusted to the light, the sheer size of the figure stifled her defiance with a crippling fear: it was Kafka himself.

The big warrior took two steps forward his long face and predatory eyes resembling those of a stalking wolf. Claudia tried to back against the wall, but her efforts were futile and too late anyway. The meaty hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing her naked throat and sending her pulse racing like a captured songbird.

'I didn't mean it when I said you were ugly…honest…' squirmed Claudia. He was so busy drinking in the sight of her, he didn't even hear.

'Exquisite,' he muttered, tracing the cold metallic hook down her tunic, drawing a carefully placed line between her breasts, 'and more valuable than I thought.'

'I…I _am_ very valuable,' stuttered Claudia, her voice sounding high and thin, distant to her own ears. 'My father will give you anything, and Sydney will…'

He heard her this time. Claudia broke off as a muscle in Kafka's jaw twitched with annoyance; his eyes narrowed sharply. 'Sydney? You mean the Sybil?'

'Uh…yes…'

'Where is she?'

'I…I…I don't…remember?'

His grip on her neck tightened, for the first time restricting her airflow a little; panic overwhelmed her, sucking her wits into a whirlpool of half-recalled advice and desperation for survival.

'Where is she?' he repeated, curving the tip of his hook over her pale, quivering cheekbone, skimming it's sharp point against her flawless flesh. 'Is she helping the relic hunter?'

'Not my face,' pleaded Claudia, 'please don't hurt me. Sydney doesn't know any relic hunters… or any Nigels… she's just… gone somewhere…'

The very edge of Kafka's mouth twitched into a smile: suddenly it all made sense! The Sybil wasn't on the island, nobody had seen her for days - and he'd never seen her face.

'Is _she _the relic hunter? The one they call Loria Foxus?'

Claudia's eyes went very wide; the whites became visible right around the vivid, azure iris. Her bottom lip quivered, and she caught it with her overbite.

Kafka smiled, the hook falling to his side as his thumb moved up to catch her tears. She flinched, but he still held her throat so tight that her attempts to twist her face away were in vain.

'That's good, my little one. You obey me, even when you don't want to - and you are not yet even my wife.'

It took her a second to absorb the words - and their horrific meaning.

'Your wife? Never!' Claudia swatted at the mighty hand, which he now let fall, and darted past him. He laughed dryly as she went. Even if she wasn't blinded by tears, or wearing those ridiculous shoes, she would never get off the heavily guarded ship.

Moreover, he was pleased with her. Not only had she told him what he wanted to know, she was, indeed, more valuable than he'd even hoped for. In exchange for her dignity being preserved through wedlock, he would ask her father for a treaty through which Camae's 'protection' would be entrusted entirely to him. Like the little beauty, the island would be his to do with as he pleased with!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sydney retrieved a small flask of wine from her satchel and poured in into two bowls. She gave one each to Reinud and Dallasus as Nigel rekindled the fire.

Nigel then sat brooding as Sydney laughed and joked familiarly with the men. It was now very clear both were rival relic hunters and ex-lovers of Sydney's alter ego, Loria Foxus.

It wasn't long, though, before she got down to business: 'So you heard about the Tree of Life from Kafka, right?'

'Yeah, we both heard from contacts in Neapolis that something was afoot - something about a slave boy, this tree and _major _treasure - and then we ran into your old friend Kafka and some of his men, returning to the city. It seems they'd got into a bit of a fight with a hillside!' Here he paused and winked sluggishly. 'He was cursing your name all the way to Hades. He'd lost several men, and all his horses had fled… he tried to commandeer ours.'

'Which was when we decided we had to work together,' butted in Reinud as Dallasus lay down on the ground, cradling the back of his head in his hands although still not taking off his beloved hat. 'They were depleted in numbers so, together, we fought them off and stole a march, tracing your tracks through the mountain and across the desert.'

'So we've already done you a favour.,' pointed out Dallasus. 'But he'll be after the relic and, once he's got everything else, he wants _you_!'

'Yes, especially after your little _history _with him. He must have messed him up even worse than you did Dallasus in Alexandria… he's angry! You need our help.'

'Maybe I do,' replied Sydney coyly, noticing both Reinud and Dallasus yawn widely but not seeing the disbelief bubble over into devastation on Nigel's face. 'More wine?'

'Uh, no,' murmured Dallasus. 'Maybe I'll just…take…a…' A loud snore indicated that he was asleep before his words had even faded. Looking weary, but slightly disturbed, Reinud found himself flopping down beside his companion.

'Sydney,' he began. 'If you've poisoned us…I'll…' She never heard the end of the threat, as he too fell fast asleep.

'Just a little drop of harpie's blood - you'll be fine by nightfall tomorrow.' Sydney laughed. 'You always were a suspicious boy, Reinud.'

'I hate him, but I don't blame him!'

Sydney was startled at Nigel's angry words. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'It means I wouldn't blame anybody for not trusting you!'

'And why is that?' she demanded, squaring up to him. 'I only double-crossed people who deceive _me_!'

'But you _deceive _everyone. I thought you were… a woman of honour…and virtue…but now it seems you're no better than a…a… woman of the night!'

Sydney contained herself from slapping him, but only just. 'How dare you? I never said I was a blushing virgin! I told you - I may be the Sybil, but I'm also a woman of flesh and blood. I'm carrying out my duties to my people through the hardest of times, with the power of the gods fading and our forefather's empire falling. I keep them safe by the best means I can, sometimes at great cost to myself!'

'And was it a great sacrifice to sleep with those men?'

His self-righteousness angered her further. She clenched her fists, but still kept control. 'A Sybil can never love,' she said quietly. 'She must also retain the image of the goddess. But there is no rule she must be a virgin, just discreet.'

'Yes…well… your choice of men is about as subtle as a kick in the teeth.' Nigel slumped to the floor and then kicked his foot angrily in the direction of Reinud and Dallasus. '_These _two I can just about handle, but…but…Kafka! In the name of Moreana, I'd rather have died his slave than to find out you two… had… had…'

He couldn't quite become the words 'been lovers.' The icy stare that Sydney fixed upon him caused the words to freeze on his lips.

'I don't have time for this now.' She turned her back on him and began binding Reinud and Dallasus's hands and feet with the rope from her endlessly well-equipped satchel. She was _so_ angry she could have throttled Nigel. Nevertheless, after a little while, she sensed his resentful stare boring into her through the darkness, and she began to relent a little.

Finishing her task, she turned to find him huddled on the far side of the fire, hugging his knees to his chest. He didn't look it her, but as she came towards him, he began to speak.

'I don't think we should work together many more. How do I know you don't still have feelings for that _monster_, and he for you. No doubt he'll forgive you…'

'Nigel!' she interjected forcefully. 'We were never lovers! He's always been my mortal enemy.'

Nigel narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 'But Reinud said you had a _history_!'

'Yes, but he knows much less of it than you do! The truth is I've swiped relics from under Kafka's nose time after time. I even severed his right hand in battle to defend innocent people from his plunderers. We have a history, alright - but of hate, not love.'

'Then why didn't you say before?'

'You didn't give me a chance! You just assumed…'

'Well, it had become so obvious you'd had carnal knowledge of _them_!' He looked tiredly towards the sleeping men.

Sydney sighed as she sat down next to him. 'I can't say I'm proud of it… _or _that I beat myself up over it. I'm no virgin - or goddess.'

'I suppose so… but there's other things that don't make sense. You said we would have a whole week to get the branch and get back to Camae to offer it to Gaia because Kafka would go and consult the Sybil in Tiburtine. Yet, there he was, on our trail soon after we left the city. And who knows how close behind he is now!'

'I'm doing my best,' murmured Sydney, discerning that Nigel's unquestioning faith in her was, at least temporarily, shattered. 'I must have made a misjudgement about his consulting the oracle. I told you before, she is old and weak. She may have fallen into his hands already in his quest to destroy the cult of the goddess. Or maybe he found another means of interpreting the hexameter, or he's waiting to see what moves we make … to be honest, I've just been carrying on the way always I work. I follow my instincts - go with the currents of the air, the tide of the ocean. It always works out that way, and I won't let him take you, I promise that.'

Nigel said nothing, just stared into the fading flames.

'Sorry if I disappointed you,' she breathed.

'No… you don't disappoint me.' He picked up a spiky twig and flung it dejectedly into the fire. 'I'm sorry. I arrived at some unjustified conclusions, and I'm sure you've done your best to keep us away from Kafka. It's just… oh, never mind…'

As Sydney eyed him with a side-long glance, Nigel thoughts turned self-reproachful. 'How could you be such a fool as to think she'd ever want you? She wants a fighter, a hero, an Achilles, a Hercules…'

'Hadn't we better be moving?' he asked quietly.

'Not until you tell me what's still bothering you?' Cautiously, she slipped her arm about him. His body was rigid, and did not melt at her touch as she hoped it might. Instead, he shook his head resolutely and asked:

'Can we go now?'

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**

**Oh, yes, and Dallasus' Indiana Jones hat is authentic to the period - well, sort of. I checked...not that I bother with every detail of course, but they did have hats vaguely like that. I was most interested to know the look went back that far... :P**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for those reviews :)**

CHAPTER NINE

Nigel and Sydney made steady but joyless progress in the relatively cool early hours of the morning. They were both dead tired. While Sydney tried to make friendly conversation on a couple of occasions, Nigel maintained a stony silence, pushing her anger nearer and nearer to breaking point.

By sunbreak, however, the monotonous desert trek was over. The scrubby vegetation grew increasingly dense and lush and soon they were picking their way between waist-high yellowy-green grasses and groves of fruit-filled olive trees.

Nigel picked a plump black olive from a tree and popped it in his mouth.

'How was it?' asked Sydney, her eyes offering a subtle smile.

'Bitter,' he replied splitting the stone out into his hand, his voice as sour as his expression. He then muttered under his breath: 'bitter like this whole part of the world and everybody in it.'

Sydney wasn't sure if she was supposed to hear this petulant outpouring, but it was enough to snap her temper. 'What's your problem?' she demanded. 'Really, I want to know!'

'I don't have a problem,' he replied flatly.

'I'm sure you don't,' spat Sydney sardonically. 'So I've slept with quite a few men - and maybe I shattered some of your illusions about me. But I never painted those illusions, Nigel - you did it yourself!'

Nigel didn't reply. He stared intently down at the sandy ground.

'And why this self-righteousness?' demanded Sydney. 'If you were Greek, I'd be _extremely_ surprised if you hadn't had 'carnal knowledge', as you so graciously put it, of quite a few women - and men - by now! I can't imagine your background is so _very_ different!'

'I…I… I don't know what you are talking about!'

The allegation had snatched back Nigel's attention. Sydney instantly sniffed a lie as he flushed bright red, before staring back down at the sand.

'I…I _have_ known women in that way,' he admitted quietly. 'But it was different. With my people it is the custom for young men to be instructed in such… arts…'

'The ritual is similar here. So you've been 'educated' – has there been _nobody_ else?'

Nigel winced self-reproachfully. 'One…well, two actually… look, I'm not mad with you because you've 'been' with many men. In fact, I'm not mad with you at all. I'm just tired, hot and… sick of this whole quest. I mean, what am I even doing this for? I know I promised I'd translate the prophecy from my aunt… but what if it just confirms something terrible will happen to our kingdom? It hardly seems worth the effort.'

'This is about more than translating the prophecy, Nigel. It's about making something happen, about fetching the branch.'

'Well, maybe it would be best if we left it alone. After all, if I never collect the thing, it will never fall into your _friend_ Kafka's hands.'

Sydney fixed him with a piercing glare. 'Do you still think I slept with him?'

'Of course not! But your 'history' certainly doesn't help us – we seem to have several ex-lovers and a powerful Goddess with a grudge on our tail!'

'I can handle them.'

'You can handle _Hera_? She's nearly killed you twice!'

'And, each time, _you_ saved my life! There's a force greater than Hera at work here, I think she senses that. I've always known she was jealous of Gaia – the power of Primeval Gods will long outlast the shining lights of Olympus, even if they weaken their control over man. Maybe Hera also knows that her days of supremacy are numbered.'

'Well I wish she didn't have to take it out on us!' Nigel sat down dejectedly at the bottom of the olive tree and rested his forehead into one hand.

Sydney looked at him impatiently for a moment before her heart melted a little - even as she chastised herself for it. Nigel, jutting out his bottom lip in such a picturesque manner it was almost irritating, so resembled a lost, dejected little boy that it was impossible for her to be angry with him. She wanted to touch him, hold him and tell him everything would be all right. An unfamiliar restraint, and the remnants of her annoyance, held her back.

'I suppose we're both tired,' she sighed. 'But I'm going to find out what's _really_ bothering you.'

Nigel shot her a fearful look, which said 'I'd rather you didn't' louder than words. She minimised her reaction to a single arched eyebrow, and turned to assess the situation.

'According to the map,' she began, 'three of the little hills are one side of the stream, and four the other. We need to take a pass between the first two hills to reach the valley and the stream.' She pointed eastward toward a little wood that covered the lower slopes of the further two of the three near hills. 'I think it's that way.'

Nigel nodded his assent. 'How much longer do you think it will be before I have to go on alone?'

'I supposed you're looking forward to that?' Sydney laughed ironically.

Nigel rose slowly to his feet and looked her straight in the eye. 'It's very the last thing I want in the world.'

They moved onward in silence, fast approaching the forest where the trees sparkled a thousand welcoming shades of green, purple and deep red. It proved easy to penetrate. A wide, grassy path wound its way into the trees, saturated with patches of golden, dappled sunlight. Birds sang in high, twittering voices, deer darted between the tree trunks and, from time to time, wild ponies mooched casually across the path, undeterred by the travellers and pausing only to chew on leafy branches and the long, reedy grass.

'We could commandeer a couple of the larger ones to speed us on our journey back,' suggested Sydney, patting a large, sandy-coloured pony. It blinked at her, surprised, and swished its tail but didn't seem at all petulant.

'_If_ we get back!' muttered Nigel.

Sydney couldn't help laugh. 'Cheer up. Maybe it won't be so bad. If the rest of the oasis is like this wood, I'm hardly filled with a sense of foreboding. It is like a paradise!'

Even a she spoke, something twinged in her gut telling her she shouldn't be so blithe. It didn't help when Nigel favoured her with one of his engaging grins for the first time in ages and said: 'I hope you're right!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kafka, with one gesture of his hand, halted the vast trail of soldiers, wagons and horses, which he was leading across the desert towards the seven little hills, and alighted from his mount. A wry, sadistic smile floated across his usually straight-set lips as the old woman, who had been dragged from a wagon by two soldiers, knelt humbly at his feet.

'So, you've decided to speak and that the fate of Prometheus is not to be the fate of the Sybil of Tiburtine?' he smirked. 'Although I suppose if I staked you out here in the desert and left you for the vultures, as I promised, your liver would not grow back after the first, agonising removal…nor any other of your rotten body-parts.'

The hairless, toothless woman, now little more than a threadbare skeleton, pressed his gloved hand to her shrivelled, torn lips. Her husky words grated from a parched throat: 'My lord and master is merciful…'

Kafka laughed derisively. He always savoured a broken spirit, especially one _he_ had destroyed.

'I have made the correct offerings to your fading idol. So tell me, once proud servant of the goddess Tibur, what will be the fate of the false woman they call Sydney, the fallen Sybil of Camae? '

Lost though she was, regret gleaned in the Sybil's eyes and she hesitated. Then the memory of the pain - and the agony she still suffered - became too much.

'The Sybil of Camae has no future,' she husked. 'She disappears from my visions… she becomes lost.'

'Dead!' Kafka pumped his fist. 'I _will_ prevail! But… she is irrelevant. What of the boy - the Messenger of the Winter Goddess? What does the Sybil of Tiburtine see of him?'

This time, her reluctance to speak immediately triggered his anger. He slapped her so hard across her prominent, white cheekbone that it instantly seeped blood.

'It…it… is still not clear,' she stammered, although barely flinching at the pain. 'But he holds all your futures in his hands and…I see…I see…'

Her grey eyes glazed over as the vision overwhelmed her. Her body began to twitch uncontrollably; foam and blood specked her murmuring lips.

'What do you see?' he yelled, raising his hand to strike her again.

'I see mountains and fire… tumbling down upon us all! Death will shower from the skies…aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!'

Even Kafka was cowed into staying his hand whilst her shattering scream reverberated around the open desert.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As they reached the far side of the trees, Nigel's renewed optimism sank like a stone and Sydney's 'bad feeling' - despite her efforts otherwise - swelled irrepressibly.

'Uh, I don't think _all _the valley is going to be like that lovely wood!'

The 'little river' was as wide as the vast forecourt of the temple, although shallow and flowing at a leisurely pace. The water was perfectly clear; little white stones were easily visible on its clay-sodden base and tiny, orange fishes could be seen darting between sparse clusters of green weed that danced in the direction of the flow. Its depth looked hardly enough to reach as high as their knees.

But it was the far side of the river that evoked their consternation.

The landscape that stretched up the opposite hills, and between them into a narrow ravine, was brown, dry and scorched - but not by the sun. In places, a tree or bush struggled through - but had been so blasted with some sort of intense heat or flame that nothing but a half-incinerated skeleton remained. Even the rocks on the riverbank had been blackened by an irresistible force.

'There's a dragon,' groaned Nigel. 'This is just marvellous. I'm going to be burnt alive!'

'No you're not,' said Sydney calmly. Her eyes darted around, assessing the situation. 'We can't be sure what caused the burning. It could have been a forest fire and, on the plus side, there isn't going to be any trouble crossing the river!'

'Lovely. I think I'd rather drown than be burnt to death.'

'Cheer up!' Sydney forced a light-hearted laugh. 'We just need to, uh, keep our eyes open. You're the 'chosen one' around here, remember. Even if there _is_ a dragon, he's not going to go after you. '

'Lucky me,' mumbled Nigel, feeling anything but.

With her senses on high alert, Sydney slipped off her boots and dipped her toe, and then her whole foot, into the river.

The water was refreshing and the riverbed below felt more like soft sand than clay. Even the stones had smooth, rounded edges.

'It feels great,' she beamed. 'Come on in.'

Nigel was about to oblige when he heard a low, distant rumbling.

'The dragon! Quick…' Nigel desperately held his hand out to Sydney. Her eyes widened as the rumbling exploded into a gushing roar.

'That's not a dragon,' she cried, taking his hand and jumping swiftly from the river. 'That's…'

'…water!' Nigel yelled out the end of her sentence as a tidal wave burst between the two little hills. They leapt for the woods, but the wash was upon them in a heartbeat.

The crest of the wave buffeted into them, dashing their feet from under them. Water closed in over Sydney's head, knocking the breath from her lungs and ripping Nigel's hand from her grip. Unable to even call his name, she scrambled helplessly as she saw his body swept away, his eyes shut and expression strangely calm, as if he had already lost consciousness.

Her mind screaming, it took all of Sydney's strength to pull up for air before she blacked out too. Bursting through the foamy surface, she retched for breath, her arms flailing wildly, devoid of her usual calm resistance. It had all been so sudden!

'It'll be all right,' she began telling herself, although was nearly dragged back under the surface again before her wherewithal returned enough for her to even kick her legs. Her panic rose, moreover, when she looked around herself. The whole valley was suddenly filled with water; the trunks of the trees at the edge of the wood were completely submerged. Most worryingly, there was no sign of Nigel, either ahead or behind her.

She called his name. No answer. She tried to deny the probability that he had never even resurfaced.

Determination to find him sent a renewed bolt of energy through her limbs, enough to turn her body against the tide and try swimming back in the other direction. The surface of the water was calming a little, although she still couldn't make headway against it. She merely found herself being swept in the same direction, at a slightly slower pace.

Cursing loudly, she glanced back behind her - still the direction she was going - to see a fast approaching overhanging branch. She lunged and grabbed it, dragging herself from the water and clambering up into the branches.

Sydney's limbs felt shivery and weak. It was only with some effort that she held herself steady on her precarious perch and noted, almost incidentally, that the water beneath her was definitely slowing and the levels already dropping.

'Come on Nigel,' she willed. 'For the love of Gaia, where are you?'

Still struggling to think straight, she reasoned that trying to make her way back up the river may be futile. He could have been swept even further downstream than she had - although she clung to the hope that he had grabbed a branch and just not heard her call above the tumult. Nigel was stronger than he looked, she had already learnt that.

She decided she ought to dive back into the calming water and begin a search.

It was then she saw his body, floating facedown in the water.

Sydney instantly plunged into the flow, her throat so tight that she could barely breathe as she swam. The liquid that welled in her eyes mingled with the splashes of the river against her face.

She could scarcely see, then, but somehow she found him, as if the river itself washed him into her arms.

'Nigel!'

Finding, but hardly registering, that she could now put her feet down, she turned him over. Nigel's face was white; his lips tinged an ashen, grey-blue. His hair was plastered against his forehead and his clothing clung tight against his skin. It was if the river had simply swept through him, seizing all that was worth having and leaving nothing but a lifeless, water-saturated shell.

There was no breath from his lips. Sydney could feel no beat from his heart as she pulled him towards her.

A hollow shock engulfed her.

The river taking most of his weight, she cradled Nigel's body. She stood there holding him for what seemed like an eternity, although the sun had not moved much further across the sky when his weight suddenly sagged against her weakening limbs. She realised that the water had subsided so far that it was, once again, confined to its tranquil riverbed.

Finding she was only a little way from the bank they had originally arrived at, she dragged Nigel over to the edge and clambered out, her feet sliding on sodden sand and mud. She then led his weight slip to the ground.

One glance at his limp, pale body - now smeared with the dank sludge of the bank - was all it took to punch her usual drive back into her.

'He isn't dead,' she thought suddenly. 'He can't be.'

Grabbing him by the shoulders she shook him hard, to no avail.

'Come on Nigel!' She urged. 'You've got an important role to play in this prophecy. You saved my life twice…and… I've never met anyone like you before. I like you… in Gaia's name, I love you! You can't die on me!'

She shook him again, harder, lifting his whole upper body off the waterlogged ground. His head lolled to one side and his lips hung open a little. For a moment she thought he was breathing but, instead, water trickled from the side of his mouth and dripped onto his shoulder and the muddy bank.

Sydney sat back down onto haunches and laid Nigel's head back on her knees. It had been a last-ditch attempt, and it had failed. He _was_ dead.

Only then did she give in to the tears. For a moment, she led agonising sobs rack her whole body and shudder through his. Nothing made sense, and not only because the prophecy could never be fulfilled. Why did she feel so utterly destroyed about a man she'd known for barely four days? She couldn't imagine the death of her father, or Claudia even, tearing her apart so much. Even worse, it had ended badly between them. He's been angry with her, although she'd barely know why. Had she?

She stared down at his still form, his closed eyes, and his pallid lips, and suddenly she knew everything. But it was far, far too late. She knew, if she could, she would move heaven and earth for those eyes to open, to see their spark of intelligence and gentleness, to be blessed with that charming, endearing smile. But what was there left to do?

'There must be something,' she pleaded, her hands desperately smoothing his hair, willing him to respond to her touch. 'Goddess, tell me what I can do… I'll do anything!' She wished she had more faith, but Sydney had spent too much of her life helping other people in the Goddess's name - helping the goddess herself – to dare to believe Gaia would do anything now. Still, she had to try, so she silently prayed…

The voice, when it sounded in her ears sometime later, was eerily placid. 'Don't cry, Sydney. I've come to take him.'

She turned with a start, one hand flying instinctively towards the dagger in her boot – both of which she'd lost in the flood. She violently cursed its absence as her gaze fell upon a tall, blond man. He was very muscular, endowed with enormous shoulders, and dressed only in dark, brown furs, fashioned into a primitive tunic. Sydney immediately recognised he was handsome - in a bland way - and that he was standing in a boat, a shallow punt that had apparently slipped silently up the river.

Her fist clenched and her other arm folded the protectively across Nigel's chest.

'Charon?' she spat, recalling the name of the boatman who ferried the newly dead to the underworld. 'I won't let you take him.'

The man lay down a long, wooden punt and smiled: it was a broad, indistinctive smile that matched his bland looks. 'You are mistaken, Sybil, this is not the river Acheron and I am not Charon. My name is Plutus. I am his brother.'

'So you've _not_ come to take him?'

'I have come for him, as I said. The Messenger of the Winter Goddess has a prophecy to fulfil.' The man alighted on dry land with a single stride in the same, calm manner as he spoke.

Sydney, regarding the newcomer with narrowed eyes, gently laid Nigel's body flat down onto the mud, resting one hand to his side and carefully arranging the other across his middle. Then, disguised beneath a sob, she made a lightning movement, grabbing at a knife she'd spied in the man's waistband. .

'How can he do it now?' she snapped, ramming its point up against his throat. Suspecting he might be a God or demon and have somehow caused the flood, she demanded: 'Are you the 'spawn of Hades' responsible for this?'

Plutus did not even blink. 'I'm afraid the deluge was inevitable the moment _you_ stepped foot in the river. Only _he_ can cross, you see.'

'So it was a mistake?' she breathed venomously. 'Was _I_ the one who was supposed to drown?'

'Your life hung in the balance, yes. His did not.'

Sydney shook her head, almost incredulous with anger and grief, and stepped away a little. 'Are you telling me he was supposed to die all along?'

'I am trying to tell you that he isn't dead.'

'What? But…' As hopes surged within her, she fell to her knees again at Nigel side. Dropping the knife with a splatter into the sludge, she picked up the hand from across his stomach. Still a deathly pale, his skin was cool and damp; it was not quite cold, but she supposed this was merely the effect of the vigorous sun.

'He's dead,' she whispered. 'I don't care who you are. Don't make sport of this.'

'Wake him up, Sydney.'

She was about to punch him hard when her attention was drawn to Nigel's lips. They were still whitish, but no longer a deathly blue. Seizing his chin, she scrutinised his face. There was no denying it - there was pink in his cheeks again!

'Wake him up,' the man repeated.

Realising she had nothing to lose, Sydney patted Nigel's cheek lightly.

'Nigel, wake up. Come on, please, don't leave me.'

As her touch caused his head flop weakly to the side again, she nearly screamed in frustration - the man was toying with her. Her fingers twitched towards the knife. She was on the verge of plunging it towards the blonde man's heart when Nigel's eyelids fell open - and he looked at her.

'Nigel?'

In the next instant, he sat bolt upright, his hand still on his chest, and began retching for air, his hazel eyes now filled with panic.

Despite the shock, Sydney instinctively thumped him on the back - his body was obviously so saturated with water that breathing was impossible. After a second, Nigel crumpled forward and began coughing up what appeared to be half the river.

'It's all right,' assured Sydney, breathless herself, one hand looped around his shoulder and the other rubbing his back.

'It's just not possible,' she thought. 'Without the help of the gods…'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'This isn't happening… this isn't happening!'

Claudia repeated the words over and over again as she lay on her side on the long, feather-stuffed mattress. Her ear pressed against her outstretched arm, she blinked only occasionally as she stared across to the blank fabric roof of the large, horse-drawn wagon as it made its bumpy progress across the desert.

She was to be married in three days to the most hateful man ever! It just couldn't be true! Sydney _would_ come and sort things out, like she always did. She just had to keep believing, Claudia told herself, and maybe say the old prayer to the goddess. Then everything would be all right…

Suddenly, the carriage came to a stop, not for the first time that hot, sultry afternoon. Claudia squealed as the flap of fabric that acted as a door suddenly swished aside to reveal a bald-headed, worried-looking man.

'Papa!' She jumped to her feet and flung her arms around his neck. 'Papa… thank the goddess! I really want to go home now.'

As she pulled away, the desolation in her father's moist eyes said it all.

'I can't go home?' Claudia shook her head disbelievingly. 'Please tell me I can, Papa. I can't marry him, I hate him!'

Citizen Agaue lightly caressed his youngest daughter's cheek with his thumb. 'I'm so sorry my child - I have no choice. There are too many lives at stake, so you have to try and understand. In exchange for your hand, your husband will spare the island the scourge of his armies… and in exchange for your… comfort, I have handed us into his 'protection' willingly.' The older man's eyes misted with further sadness. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he had given his entire fortune to Kafka so that she would not be sullied before her wedding night or ill-treated as his wife. Claudia barely noticed his grief.

'No!' she squealed, stamping her foot in frustration. 'He keeps me hidden away in this smelly wagon, I hate the way he touches me, and I keep on hearing this horrid, hoarse screaming noise… although he has given me some pretty jewels and I am allowed to pick my own wedding dress… but I don't want to marry him! I won't!'

'You have to, my child. Believe me when I say I would fight Zeus himself to prevent this if only I could. I'm so sorry!' He shook his head slowly. 'I thought that at the temple you would safe. Little did I know what that woman would bring down upon us.'

'Sydney? What do you mean?'

'I mean that the woman we trusted as our sacred prophetess was dishonest. She led a double life and betrayed us all to him.'

'No way!' Claudia pulled away, folding her arms and jutting up her chin defiantly. 'Sydney has only ever acted to save your skins! She'd never do anything to betray the island.'

'But she already has. She has gone with him, had she not? The Messenger of the Winter Goddess?'

'Uh… you mean Nigel?'

'Yes, the slave boy who threw himself on the protection of the temple. In the name of Zeus, it would've been best had she let him die of the fever.'

'But why? He's gone to collect some sort of powerful branch thingy, that apparently only he can retrieve. It's awfully important and he's the only one who can decide what to do with it…'

'Yes! And his actions could bring about the destruction of the island! The Sybil, had she done her duty, would have foreseen this.'

'And how do _you_ know that?'

'The Sybil of Tiburtine! She obeys only your future husband now, but at least she still has her powers. Only this afternoon she revealed that the Messenger of the Winter Goddess may set events into motion that will bring fire and earth tumbling down upon us all!'

Claudia barely smothered a giggle 'Uh, have you met Nigel? It doesn't seem likely…'

'Claudia!' She broke off, as her father's voice struck against her trusting instincts, deep and deadly grave. 'Claudia, my child - if your friends are not stopped they _will_ destroy our people. I know it is hard for you, but you are marrying the only man who can save us.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After he'd finished choking, Nigel flopped down onto his side, panting heavily and apparently unable to yet speak. Sydney brushed back his hair from his eyes and turned back to see Plutus still towering over them.

'Thank you?' she offered, her voice tinged with a steely suspicion.

'It wasn't my doing,' he shrugged. 'But now he must come with me.'

Sydney bristled defensively as she stroked Nigel shoulder, wondering if he was listening to their extraordinary conversation. 'No way am I letting you take him in this condition! You need to give him time to recover.'

'Time is short. If you had not called down the flood, this would not have happened.'

'Ever thought of a warning sign?' she snapped. 'You know, one that reads: 'Don't step foot in the river because _you might die_?'

The man's lips quivered slightly. 'You are as amusing - and as clever - as they say you are, great Sybil. But he comes with me. You know you must.'

Half of her wanted to fight Plutus to the death if necessary but, deep inside, her will unexpectedly subsided. Even if the God's powers were dwindling, she could not fight a prophecy.

She watched wordlessly as Plutus, casually as ever, slipped his arms under Nigel's shoulders and half dragged, half lifted him away from her and over to the boat. Nigel - his breath still laboured and his hold on consciousness thin - had no strength to resist.

Still unable to speak, Nigel's eyes met Sydney's as Plutus leant him up against the shallow wooden stern. He was scared, she could tell, but there was also an element of resignation in his eyes, much as she felt.

She understood - and so did he. Nigel's lips curved into a little smile, both grateful and regretful.

'Don't be sorry,' she began. 'I'm sorry, I never understood before… I'll wait for you, I promise.'

'Goodbye,' he mouthed.

As unheeded tears once again blurred Sydney's vision, Plutus began to punt across the river.

END OF BOOK ONE

**Thanks for reading. Please, please review.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimers: as before. **

**Thank you to everybody who has followed the story so far. So now we enter the second book, and I warn you now, it's going to be a little bit weird and trippy and very fantasy, but I hope there will be plenty to enjoy…and yeah, I'll get Syd and Nigel back together again soon. Oh, and for those of you who would rather read something slightly less 'out there' I've just started working on 'Lovers of Legend 2,' and I'll be taking request for which guest stars from the show/plot developments/pairings etc. you'd like to see!! You all know how to contact me… message, email or review. Cheers :)**

**VISIT OUR NEW RELIC HUNTER FANFIC WEBSITE: see my profile page for URL. **

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T H E - E L Y S I A N - F I E L D S

By Katy

Book 2: Of Primeval Love

CHAPTER TEN

She spoke to him with sweet, warm words. She stroked his brow and touched his lips and cheeks with the tenderness only a mother could convey.

Nigel gazed straight up at her, a face he had never actually seen - yet one he knew intimately. Her features were tiny and pointed but inherently kindly and her eyes were the dark green-blue of a northern ocean. Her hair curled softly to her waist, so blonde it was almost white. He had never touched it, yet he knew it felt soft, yielding, springy - perfect for the play of childish fingers.

'Mother,' he murmured. 'Never let me go. Don't send me back again… don't leave me alone.'

'You won't be alone, darling,' she whispered, eyelashes flecked with tears. 'You'll never be alone. Now you have us both to love you…'

' Sydney?'

She smiled silently. He knew what she meant.

'But why must I go back? Can't she come to join us here in the Summerlands?'

'She cannot, my love, so you must go back to her. Besides, you have a job to do and there is another like me you must beware of. She envies the inheritance which once was hers and now passes to you. She will try and take it and she will do all she can to possess you. As will he - the one you fear.'

Now her eyes clouded sadly and the bright world around her began to fade. She heard her son's silent cry of desperation even before his words.

'I know who _he_ is, but who is _she_?' he pleaded as her beloved features descended into the mist.

Yet all the answers became his before they melted into the oblivion of wakefulness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Plutus the boatman glided his craft across the tranquil veneer of the water until it bumped against the far bank. Nigel did not stir and Sydney could see that he had slipped into unconsciousness again. A wave of helplessness - once such an unfamiliar emotion - swept over her again.

An unbearable pang told her that he was still dead, that his revival had been a trick. So overpowering were her emotions that she did not even realise that she was kneeling in the mud, that it caked her arms, legs and clothes and smeared her face, or that the unheeded tears had returned.

'You can't take him!' she shouted suddenly. 'I won't let you - he needs me!'

Plutus did not even look in her direction. Lowering himself to one knee, he hoisted Nigel effortlessly over his shoulder and then strode from the boat and across the blasted landscape, which glistened after its soaking as if it had been coated with oil. Moving at a remarkable pace, given his burden, he headed straight for the narrow ravine between the hills. All too soon, they vanished from her sight.

She was truly alone.

Sydney took a long breath, wiped her face with her hands, and scraped her hair, which currently clung in damn clumps to her shoulders, back behind her neck. Then she rose to her feet.

'Nigel isn't dead,' she told herself, matter-of-factly. 'He will be back soon with the branch. I need to spend this time usefully while I'm waiting for him to return.' The words, while not exactly comforting, made her feel a little more like herself again.

The floods had swept away everything but the tightly-laced tunic she wore. Her boots, her satchel and its contents, her sword and longbow - everything else was gone.

The obvious thing, she thought, would be to track down stream and see if anything had been washed up. Then, without moving too far from the banks in case of Nigel's return, she could see if any of the ponies had survived the deluge and were suitable for riding.

She began picking away at on the slippery, waterlogged riverside, with some success. Her sword she found which to between some rocks on the bank. Her satchel, still containing the longbow and most of her other bits and bobs, had caught on a low hanging branch.

Finding her stuff made her feel even more in control again. As she laid out her satchel on a sundrenched rock to dry she began to believe her own mantra of 'everything will turn out well,' and quietly thanked Gaia.

Her greatest desire at that particular moment, however, was to cast off her muddy clothes and wash them - and herself - in the invitingly clear river. This was, of course, impossible. Nevertheless, speculatively making her way little further along the bank in pursuit of her beloved boots, she heard the light trickling of falling water. She soon beheld a little stream winding its way down through the forest, tumbling over rocks into a little holding pool before it tipping over into the main river, filter. It was a small risk, she knew, but her gut told her the pool was not forbidden.

She slipped off her tunic and plummeted into the pool before she even questioned her assumption.

Fortunately, there was no ominous rumbling and no tidal wave. The water felt delicious and, before long, she was standing under the waterfall revelling as it purged the sticky mud from her hair and skin. She could have stayed under there forever if she hadn't been so keen to watch for a signal from Nigel on the other side.

Then, as she swam across the pool, one of the bushes moved. It was only a slight rustle, but when it was followed by a smothered, snuffling cough, she knew it meant trouble.

Sydney, pretending not to notice, covered herself with her tunic as casually as she dared. Then she grabbed her sword and plunged into the bushes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

To Nigel, awaking was like rising swiftly to the surface from the lowest reaches of the ocean. Images that had a moment ago been as strong as the sun became dreamlike and ephemeral, fleeing from his consciousness even as try to grasp them to his heart and etch them into his memory.

He'd never been so deeply asleep – then suddenly so vibrantly awake.

The moment he opened his eyes he sat up, buoyed by a spurt of energy. He shook his head and blinked hard, just to confirm the reality of his existence - and that it was possible to feel so wonderfully alive.

'Holy Earth Mother!'

Nigel jumped to his feet gazing down at his clothing, his lips parted in disbelief. He was clad in what appeared to be a suit of Adamantine armour - it was a dark, almost midnight silver, that sparkled a rainbow spectrum of colours as it caught the rays of sun. The breastplate was moulded flatteringly to the contours of his chest, while his tunic, a form of thin, chainmail, fell to just below his thighs. Although it looked as if it should be very heavy, it felt as light and as comfortable as linen.

He leant down to pick up a round, bejeweled shield and a short, silver sword, which slipped naturally into the sheath that hung from his belt. Despite his instincts telling him otherwise, he couldn't help but question the reality of it all. He didn't even know where he was, although he appeared to be at the top of narrow, steeply sloping valley that closed to a thin ravine at either end so he couldn't see where it came from, or where it led. Spotting a pool nearby, created by a little dam in a fast moving mountain stream, Nigel wandered over and gazed down just to check he was still really there.

For a second, he thought two figures stared back at him out of the opaque surface - himself, and a beautiful white-haired woman. She stood at his side, her smiling face a dreamlike memory. But she was gone in a heartbeat, taking his indistinct thoughts with her.

Alone, however, the sight still stunned him.

Even Nigel had to admit he was looking rather good. Not only was the armour exceedingly flattering, but his hair was clean, dry and swept back attractively, his skin was scrubbed and glowing in the rays of the sun. His eyes sparkled a sea-green.

Before he could develop too much of a Narcissus complex, however, an alarming thought struck him: who exactly had cleaned him up and dressed him like this? Weaving together sparse memories, of the floods and its aftermath, it occurred to him it had probably been that overdeveloped blonde boatman who he vaguely recollected dumping him in his punt like a drowned rat. A high colour flushed into his healthy tanned cheeks at the notion that man had stripped him naked - and then drained again as he thought of Sydney.

Where was she? Was she alright? He cursed himself bitterly as he remembered how rude he had been. Now they were parted - possibly forever - and he already missed her so much!

These thoughts were pounding his head as he heard a blasting roar, followed by a familiar voice emanating from the thin gully at the top of the valley: 'Nigel! Help me!'

' Sydney?'

After only a moment of confused hesitation, he ran towards the cries, his sword drawn and his feet as flighty as the wind. He came to an abrupt halt only when he reached a slight widening in the steep, high rock faces of the ravine.

There he saw Sydney, quashing his assumption that she had been unable to come after him. But her situation, like the feminine, high-pitched scream that still vibrated in his ears, was shockingly unexpected.

She was tethered against the rock with thick, metal chains. Her hair was loose about her shoulders, and she was wearing only a white, almost translucent fabric whisp, that wound around her breasts and loins.

The only thing even vaguely characteristic about her was the angry, determined glower with which she fixed the large, green dragon.

A dragon! Nigel yelped and nearly dropped his sword. About twice as high as a tall man it had a broad, winged body, somewhat reminiscent of a fat pigeon or crow, but with metallic greeny-purple scales rather than feathers. This was crowned with a tall, stout neck and snout, and ended in a thick tail, as long as a man was high, and which tapered to a spindly, pointed end.

A real-life dragon! He couldn't fight a dragon - even to save Sydney. Of course he'd try, but they'd both be eaten…

Sydney glowered at him impatiently. 'What are you waiting for? It's only a little one!'

'A little one?' squeaked Nigel. 'It's six times the size of a horse! It could swallow me whole!'

'It's going to swallow _me_ whole if you don't pull yourself together. Now kill it!'

Sydney tossed her hair impatiently and rattled her chains, while Nigel dithered, increasingly terrified. The conversation had drawn the dragon's attention over to the newcomer. He blew a puff of green smoke in Sydney's face - causing her to cough crossly - and began stalking over towards Nigel.

'Raise your sword! Kill it!'

Nigel, who expected to be incinerated in a moment, turned his face half away and squinted with one eye at the dragon, waving his sword with a decidedly limp wrist.

'Hopeless,' groaned Sydney, kindling Nigel's annoyance, despite his terror.

The dragon, on the other hand, stood up on its hind legs and folded two stumpy little arms. It stared at him with beady yellow eyes, deep-set in behind a snout that, close-up, seemed almost bovine.

Then it mooed.

The 'moo' – or a noise that sounded almost indistinguishable from the sound of a benign cow - was accompanied by a blast of steamy, turf-scented air, which washed over Nigel's face and ruffled his hair like a breeze sweeping up a sunbaked beach. Its purport, moreover, did not appear to be that of a monster about to pounce on its prey. It was a plaintive noise, reminiscent of a bison that was pleased to see its calf.

Nigel lowered his sword. Not entirely sure he wasn't tempting fate, he stuttered: 'Err, Sydney, I don't think it wants to kill us.'

'Of course it does! It tied me to this rock, didn't it? Kill it now!'

Nigel stabbed half-heartedly with his sword in the direction of the dragon, which simply took a step back and repeated its mellifluous 'moo'.

Now Nigel was confused. He was still shaking with terror just at the sight of the beast, but it certainly didn't _seem_ aggressive. It occurred to him that trying to kill it, and thus stirring its anger and then most likely failing anyway, could be the worst possible plan.

'Um, Sydney,' he ventured. 'Are you sure it was the dragon who chained you to the rock?' He regarded its paws and their long, scythe-shaped and decidedly clumsy looking talons. 'It doesn't seem likely…'

'Are you calling me a liar?' snapped Sydney.

'No… sorry…it's just…well, it's hardly as bad as the Harpies, is it? I think it will be easier if we just tried to sneak away while it isn't angry or hungry.'

Seriously wondering what had come over Sydney - and how the self-sufficient woman he knew had got herself in such a mess anyway – Nigel slipped his sword in its sheath. Sidling toward where she was tethered, he offered the dragon a timid smile: 'Err, nice dragon. Nothing to eat here! Just you let us go and then you can return to doing nice, um, dragon-y stuff.'

His eyes locked with those of the dragon, who emitted a low, throaty whine that struck Nigel as akin to a plea to be careful. He dismissed this as fanciful but the dragon's expression was so innocuous that the venomous glare he then met in Sydney's eyes was an unpleasantly jarring shock.

'Kill him!' she yelled. 'Or else…'

Suddenly, the dragon swivelled to face her. His massive wings unfolded with a crack. Flames belched from its mouth, and fingers of fire whizzed across the rock face, engulfing Sydney completely.

Nigel drew his sword and slashed it at the dragon, almost as a reflex. But the beast's reactions were lightning fast - his outstretched neck recoiled back towards his body like a tortoise, scuttled sideways like crab then, with a an indignant flap of his enormous wings, he rose into the air and glided off up the ravine.

' Sydney? Sydney!'

Nigel's distress grew as he frantically wafted his arms around in the cloud of smoke that now concealed her completely. Choking on the fumes, he felt nauseous already. Surely all he could find was a blackened corpse? It would be all his fault for falling for the dragon's trick…

Fumbling forward, his hand brushed against blazing hot rock, scorching his fingers.

'Ow!' Tears pricked in the back of his eyes. There was no way she could have survived, this time…

'For the love of Gaia, Nigel - when are you going to on untie me?'

'Sydney?'

Nigel strained his eyes into the dispelling fog and, sure enough, he discerned her form, still standing upright against the rock.

'But…how?'

'With no help from you, that's how! Stupid beast must have missed me…aaah, that's better!'

There was a clanking noise, and Nigel saw the shadowy, slender figure stepping away from its place of captivity.

'You took so long about getting to these chains that I've managed to do it myself!'

The smoke lifted almost instantaneously leaving Nigel staring at Sydney, apparently unscathed apart from a decorous smudge of soot on her right cheek. The thin fabric wisp was not even singed.

She sighed deeply, placing one hand on her hip. 'What am I going to do with you, if you can't learn to do what I say?'

'I'm sorry,' stuttered Nigel, unsure what surprised him more: her survival or her manner. 'I'll do better next time…'

'There will not be a next time, Nigel. That was your last chance!'

'Wha… what do you mean? What are you doing!? Sydney…'

Nigel broke off as Sydney leapt towards him, looped one arm around his neck, slapped her lips over his and plunged her tongue deep into his mouth. Her other hand seized his hair, pressing their lips together with such force that it hurt him. Bewildered, Nigel tried to return the kiss, but she clamped her teeth shut, almost biting his tongue and then pushed him away so hard that he stumbled backwards and fell.

Nigel rubbed the back of his hands across sore lips and glared reproachfully back up at her. 'What was _that_ for? I admit that I misjudged the situation, but…'

She interrupted him with a cool, spiteful laugh. 'You could say that! It seems like you've misjudged a lot of things. You see, I've worked out your little secret. You're in love with me, aren't you?'

'No… I'm not…' He knew the lie was weak, but he was in love with the woman who had asked him to be her assistant, who'd wanted so dearly to know what bothered him, and whose distraught face had filled his vision as he'd been taken from her. Not this callous bitch he couldn't even bear to look in the face. He gazed down at his knees. 'But…but…'

'Shhhh!' She crouched down in front of him, and pressed a finger hard over his mouth, capturing his gaze with hers. 'It's quite all right, Nigel. Neither of us have been very honest with each other.'

Nigel swatted away her hand from his mouth, only to find the back of her fingers trailing down his cheek. He found himself wincing at her touch: 'What do you mean?'

Sydney sighed deeply. 'Ah, my poor boy! I'm afraid the truth is you _have_ become a little caught up in a lovers tiff…but, you see, I've decided to go back to him.'

'What!' Nigel jumped to his feet. 'You don't mean…you can't… not Kafka?'

'Naturally,' she smiled. 'My Lord and Master - and _your_ Lord and Master!'

'This isn't real,' said Nigel deliberately. 'You aren't Sydney, and this isn't real. I'm dreaming…'

'It's quite real! He and I have been lovers for years. He never knew I was the Sybil, but now he's powerful I have decided that joining with him, in every sense, is my best option.'

Nigel shook his head adamantly. 'You are not Sydney! Who are you?'

'I am Sydney,' she said calmly. 'Now you must go into the mountains, and bring me the branch, and I will take it to him.'

'Never! You're _not_ Sydney…'

Jumping up, he turned to run, but she caught his arm, swivelling him back to face her - just as Sydney had done, only yesterday. His doubts began to swell.

'I'm sorry, Nigel,' she said, gently this time. 'But I am Sydney. This is the only way I can save the temple, my island… and I have to follow my heart. Come back to me, and I shall see that he treats you well. Try to run and the consequences will be unthinkable.'

He snatched his arm away. 'You're not Sydney!'

Hera merely smiled through thinned lips as Nigel ran from the clearing, and filled his mind with grief, doubt and betrayal. 'You'll soon get over her,' she thought to herself. 'And soon she'll be dead and you'll be my love, and my slave, as you were surely born to be. Now I think it's time I had a little word with that meddlesome mortal, Frankus Kafka…'

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Sydney, still dripping wet, grabbed her sword and plunged into the bushes. The sword was at the voyeurs throat in an instant.

'Sydney! Please, no throat cutting! It's me - your old, uh, friend!?'

'Stewie!' growled Sydney, not yet moving the knife. 'In Gaia's name, why are you spying on me?'

'I wasn't!' protested the short, stout man in the long, loudly-coloured chiton as Sydney dragged him backwards out of the bush by the large pack on his back. 'I was innocently passing this way and you just turned up…'

'You were _innocently_ lurking in a bush?'

'Well, I might have adjusted my location a little for a better view!'

Stewie grinned peevishly as Sydney stared at him disgusted. 'You really are a Goddess Sydney,' he cackled. 'That was a show I'm not going to forget for some time!'

**Thanks for reading. **

**Please review. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thank you for those reviews and to all of you still following this story! **

CHAPTER ELEVEN

'Right, Stewie! I'm not going to ask you this twice - where are my dice?'

'The dice are long gone,' cringed Stewie. 'I lost them at, err, a game of dice!'

Sydney rolled her eyes. 'For once, I believe you! I'm guessing you're not in the God of Fortune's good books. But why did you call me Sydney? That isn't my name…'

'Oh no, I forgot… its Sweetcheeks!'

Sydney shot him a look that would have blasted the life out of any man with less thick skin. Every time she met Stewie he reminded her of an incident she'd rather forget had happened when they were rivals on the trail of the same relic. Sydney had been bathing up to the waist in a clear, blue lake when Gelos, God of Laughter, delighted by the sweetness of the sight, had turned the lake to honey! An unfortunate result of this had been that Sydney was chased by wasps for many leagues until she found a nectar-free stream to wash in - although she still refused Stewie's offer to lick off the offending sticky goo!

Trying not to prolong the revival of this painful memory, she demanded again: 'Why did you call me Sydney?'

'The game's up, Sweetcheeks, Lori, Sydney - whoever you are! Everybody knows you're the Sybil and that - rather than upholding the image of the goddess - you have been leading a double life as a relic hunter…a relic hunter who has been, shall we say, rather _generous_ with her affections! And I don't want to be responsible for repeating some of the other things people have been saying about you, because you'd probably hit me!'

Sydney found her hands were shaking; she relinquished her grip on Stewie, and fixed him with a pair of unusually grim eyes: 'What about Camae? Has Kafka attacked the island?'

'Not exactly...'

'Stewie! Don't mess about. You've got to tell me everything you know… now!'

'Are you sure you've finished your bath? I don't mind if you want to pop back in for another bathe… I don't mind watching, err, waiting… '

'_Now_ Stewie!

He sighed, and threw down the heavy pack on his back. 'Alright, alright! I just thought you might want to feel a little more… comfortable, before you heard this. But anyway, I was in Neapolis, minding my own business… taking pity on the carelessness of the citizens, actually. All sorts of lost property was lying about in the street, and I was doing quite a nice trade returning it to its owners…'

'I'm guessing you were charging people a fee for the return of their own things?'

'Not an unreasonable one,' he sniffed. 'Anyway, everybody who I meet -citizens soldiers, the lot– are talking about this Tree of Life and that Kafka is just waiting for the disgraced Sybil to return with it. Now, _I'm_ thinking to myself - 'this is a strange story, you and Kafka working together'. I didn't believe that for a minute. But, of course, I'm thinking you might be needing my help in retrieving the said powerful, and apparently valuable relic….''

'No doubt!' interjected Sydney sardonically.

'So, having had my fill of good work, I was just leaving the city, when there came _another_ announcement.'

Sydney tried to suppress the sinking feeling in her gut. 'What was it?'

'The declaration of a treaty between Kafka, the Governor of Neapolis, and Agaue, first citizen of Camae, and… the marriage between Citizen Agaue's daughter and Kafka himself!'

'He wouldn't dare!' The words she spat out were an injustice to her horror: Claudia had fallen into the hands of that awful man! She cursed herself for ever having left her assistant alone.

'Aw, Sorry - she was a friend of yours?'

'As close as a sister! There is no way she would enter into that marriage willingly!' Angry tears moistened her eyes.

'Well I don't think they are going to ask you to be bridesmaid! The ceremony is in two days time, back in the city.'

Sydney said nothing, trying tried not to dwell on the likely fact that that it was Claudia who had probably betrayed her, inadvertently or under duress. The thought of that man harming Claudia in any way made her feel physically sick.

'So, what are we going to do about retrieving that valuable stick, then? I can't wait to get my hands on those golden apples…'

'_We're_ not going to do anything,' growled Sydney, sitting back down on her haunches, one hand rested in her forehead: what could she do? She hated the thought of Nigel finding had gone when he returned with the relic but, right now, Claudia's plight was the more urgent.

She started when she felt a soft tap on her shoulder. 'You know, I'd go 70-30 with you on the treasure if you'd help me make sense of all the weird scrawlings on this hexameter I picked up at Kafka's camp. They didn't seem to want to let it go, so it must lead to something shiny…'

Sydney looked up abruptly to see that Stewie was pulling a large scroll from his pack, written upon by two different hands. She instantly recognised the start of Nigel's prophecy, the message from the Winter Goddess, at the start of the scroll.

But there was also some different writing, roughly scrawled in a dark red ink.

She snatched it away from him and began to scrutinise it closely: 'Nigel's hexameter! Where in Hades did you get this? You stole it from Kafka, right?'

'Err, not exactly. It was some of his soldiers that I lost Caerus's dice to, and, well… I thought they were too valuable to pay one little gambling debt and I deserved something back. Some of the guards had been drinking heavily so I snuck into a tent to see what was up for picking… then one of them stirred, and it was the only thing I had time to grab!'

Sydney grunted as she realised the hexameter ended in a ragged tear. It seems you left half of it behind.'

'I told you, the guard woke up, and he was a big man! And there was this woman - she looked pretty mad too. She grabbed the end of it, I ran and it just ripped… '

Sydney was scarcely listening to him now, so absorbed was she in the second set of writings. It didn't take much to work out what they were written in - the thick, gloopy texture, the bitter smell – it could only be one thing. Blood. Moreover, they seemed to be answering Nigel's prophecy through a second _hexameter_, a prophecy in itself. The mention of the woman in the tent caught her attention, though.

'This woman, was she old? Could she have been the Sybil of Tiburtine?'

'If all Sybils are as red-hot as you, she could've been a Sybil - but she wasn't old. She was young, beautiful… sandy hair, lovely breasts…gorgeous!'

'Not the Sybil, then,' murmured Sydney. 'This is strange… and sinister. A prophecy like this could only be recalled by a prophetess under the right circumstances, in a cave and having made the right offerings… or under the extreme sufferings of torture. I'm guessing this text was forced from the Sybil through the latter.'

'Nasty,' grimaced Stewie. 'So what does it mean?'

'I don't know,' whispered Sydney, still partially lost in rumination. 'It's speaking about the branch, and how it should be offered to Gaia… and the reward she will give to the one that bears it. The second half, the important bit, is on the piece we don't have, and parts of this are written in a weird dialect that I don't understand.'

'Oh, you mean the native Etruscan witterings? That's the only bit I _do_ understand.' Stewie pointed to part of the scrawlings. 'This bit says: when you reach the cave in Camae, the offerer of the branch must carry in a handful of soil as a mark of respect to the Earth Mother. Whatever that means!'

Sydney groaned: the Sybil must have been under such stress that she reverted to her girlhood tongue, that of the farms and backwaters of Volterra. Rarely written down, it was known to no scholar - but _was_ the domain of the shifty tradesmen who learnt every word possible to help with a sale. She couldn't believe her bad luck: now she _needed_ Stewie!

She turned to him with a snarl: 'Alright - listen up. I want you to help me get into Kafka's camp, retrieve and translate the second half of the hexameter, and rescue Claudia! Believe me, I don't like this idea anymore than you do, but I've got no choice.'

'Aw…come on! There's no way I'm going to go searching after where they've pitched their tents! I'm going after the big time now, the golden apples, the pretty, sparkly branches? I've heard there's some rather comely nymphs hovering around that tree too.'

'Stewie!' seethed Sydney. 'This isn't about the relic. It's about the future of a whole island, a whole province, maybe the world… and, more importantly, it's about helping my friends.' She paused then spat through gritted teeth: 'Look…if there's any golden apples going spare at the end of this…maybe I'll toss one your way.'

He thought about it for a second, and then grinned in a way that Sydney found most untrustworthy: 'Alright then. It seems a shame, that little blonde chicky with a craggy old soldier like that, and there being so many eligible _young_ bachelors like me around. It would be criminal not to at least try and rescue her…'

Sydney smothered her groan. 'So you're in?'

'How could I not be? After all, I already knew you were called Sydney - and suspected you were the Sybil of Camae - long before Kafka did.'

'You're lying… aren't you?' His extremely smug smile indicated otherwise. 'How did you know?'

'You talk in your sleep.'

Without hesitation, she seized him by the tunic again: 'If you tell that to anybody, you're a dead man, Stewie! You know what conclusions they'll jump to, and I was drunk, yes, but not _that_ drunk…now come on, you're helping me now, whether you like it or not!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Nigel heard her laugh as he fled, but he never looked back.

'It's not Sydney,' he kept telling himself. 'It can't be. She would never be so…wrong!'

Nevertheless, a debilitating doubt drained his will to the point where he couldn't run any further. Slumping to his knees, he buried his head forward in his hands and tried to make sense of it all.

From the start, he'd trusted Sydney instinctively, almost unquestioningly. Her teasing attempts at seduction - especially viewed in hindsight - had done little to repel him. Within mere days, his sentiments towards her eclipsed every other bond in his life. He respected her and needed her. He'd let himself love her.

Even knowledge of her adventurous love life, had only created a temporary blemish - after a while, it all made sense. It was all part of the liberated and radiant woman he loved.

But to love Kafka? And this callousness? It was impossible.

As he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, her words resonated in his head:

'_I'm carrying out my duties to my people through the hardest of times, with the power of the god's fading and our forefather's empire falling. I keep them safe by the best means I can …'_

'_Maybe I shattered some of your illusions about me. But I never painted those illusions - you did it yourself.' _

Was _everything_ an illusion?

The pessimist in him could believe only too well that the woman he'd fallen in love with was his own fantasy and that the barrier between the hate and love she felt for Kafka was ephemerally thin - although his optimism put up a valiant fight. Why would she shatter his delusions now, rather than wait for him to bring the branch to her willingly? Has she been so angry about the dragon that she let her guard down? More pertinently, he could not suppress the memory of her smile, her warm nature towards him from the start. It had all been so real… hadn't it?

Nigel was descending ever deeper into this quagmire of angst, when his attention was grabbed by a high pitched giggle. He looked up, swiftly wiping his cheekbones with the back of his hand to destroy any incriminating evidence of his emotions.

He was in another small clearing, surrounding by a variety of opulent, pale-leaved fruit trees and dense berry-bushes. He could see nobody, and he wasn't quite sure if he hadn't imagined the noise. It certainly hadn't been Sydney - it had sounded more like Claudia, but that was impossible.

'Hello?'

He gasped silently as peels of laughter echoed around the clearing again. This time they seemed to originate from bushes on both sides of the clearing. There were two of them!

He rose uncertainly to his feet. 'Err, hello? Is anybody there?'

Nigel cringed: what a stupid question! Of course somebody was there.

Silence returned. He scanned the bushes, wondering if he should draw his sword and be ready to defend himself - for what it was worth. The laughter may have been feminine but, now more than ever, Nigel was quite aware that women could be just as vicious - emotionally and physically - as men.

'I'll just be on my way, then…'

He had barely taken a step forward when two identical blonde women jumped out of the bushes. One, leaping from the left, landed a little ahead of him; the other, emerging from the right, guarded his flank.

Nigel was enthralled. Apparently twins, the girls both had twinkling blue eyes and identically styled yellow hair, hanging thick and shiny around their shoulders. They were also clad similarly, in the briefest of garments that slipped off their shoulders displaying swathes of peachy cleavage.

'Hello Nigel!' they chorused as one. 'We've been waiting for you!'

'You have?' gulped Nigel, trying to look into the pretty, slightly-vacant face rather than the obvious 'assets' of the blonde who swayed predatorily towards him. 'You must be the…Hesperides then?'

'He is _so_ clever!' whispered a voice in his ear, and he barely smothered his yelp as he felt a warm hand fondling his bottom through his snug-fitting chainmail.

'And so brave!' cooed the first girl, running her fingers down his armour clad chest and grabbing the hilt of his sword. 'What an amazing weapon, Nigel? Will you show it to us?'

Nigel, his cheeks burning, offered something between a grin and a grimace: 'Uh, I'd be happy to oblige one day, but… we haven't even been properly introduced yet!'

'He's right,' snapped girl behind him, bitchily slapping away her sister's hand from where it fiddled with the clasps that held up Nigel's armour, but not moving her own from his backside: 'We are the Hesperides, entrusted with guarding the golden apples - and branches - of the Tree of Life by Gaia herself! I'm Arethusa, and this is my sister Errytheia. But you can call us Arry and Erry.'

'I'd be, uh, honoured…oh!' Nigel gritted his teeth against the onslaught of fiddling hands. He was even more alarmed when his breastplate and sword-belt clattered to the floor, and he found himself clad only in his increasingly flimsy-feeling tunic and sandals.

'We're going to have so much fun,' gushed Erry, stroking his face and hair. 'We've been waiting such a long time!'

'Yes,' purred Arry. 'Plutus comes to visit us all sometimes, but it usually it's just the three of us and our little pets.'

'There's three of you? And you keep _pets_?' Now Nigel was _really _scared!

'Oh yes, we have another sister, Chrysothemis!'

Nigel could already imagine the excruciating feel of the _third_ pair of tickly hands all over him: 'Look, ladies, this is lovely but, truly, I have a job to do. So if you could just be so obliging as to point me to the Tree of Life, I'll be on my way.'

Erry pouted, her lips hovering inches from his, He heard Arry whimper disappointedly.

'There's plenty of time,' she husked in his ear. 'We want to cook you a meal.'

'You're going to love it!'

It was something about the wide, luscious smile plastered across Erry's face that made Nigel fear that _he _might be on the menu. Nevertheless, as they dragged him off he couldn't help but feel a little better about himself.

'At least I've still got 'it' with _some _of the ladies,' he thought vacantly as he let the sheen of sensual pleasure dissipate his pain.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kafka strode into the tent and took a deep swig from a flagon of water.

It was hot, so hot. Sweat poured down his back and forehead, frying him in the intensity of his pent-up energy. He could also feel the smarting pain emanating from the semicircle of little tooth marks on his good arm.

Claudia had bitten him!

He found it difficult to comprehend that the helpless little blonde creature had physically attacked him when he tried to take something as simple as a kiss. He thought she would have obliged; she'd seemed pleased enough with the selection of wedding dresses he'd given her to pick from! It was almost funny, apart from that he wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't struck her. It confounded him. But then, women always confounded him.

They had wiles, mysterious ways - they never fought – or spoke - straight, as this one hadn't. Neither had the beautiful, woman he'd employed of late as his torturer, who turned up at the camp to offer her services and wring the last modicum of life and information from the Sybil of Tiburtine. But at least she'd done her job well - very well indeed.

The thought occurred to him that he feared women. He laughed, and dismissed it instantly.

One thing he was sure of was that he found Claudia attractive - and he wouldn't be denied much longer. He liked his females to be small, exquisite, easily dominated -qualities he found delectable in both boys and girls.

The only mistake with this one, he reasoned, was that he had not been firm enough from the start. He had indulged her, almost petted her - and she had sniffed the advantage.

He sighed gruffly and vowed he would teach her who was her Lord and Master that very night in the most pleasurable way possible - for _him_. If she wanted her life to be anything but a short one, she would learn to love it too.

'Men are so much easier to handle,' he muttered to himself. 'Men I can crush…'

'And crush them you shall!'

Kafka had his hooked hand at the woman's throat and in an instant. She merely laughed airily, her perfumed breath making him want to sneeze. She tossed her long raven hair.

Kafka found the hold he had taken of the newcomers clothing faltered almost instantly as if his muscles were wilting within him.

He staggered backwards, as the women seemed to grow great and dreadful in front of him, almost as tall as he.

'Who are you?' he growled. 'How do you bewitch me?'

She smiled coldly: 'I am a woman you truly should fear, even more than that pretty little blonde. I am Hera.'

'Hera!' He wanted to deny her power, her reality even, but her thick aura saturated the room, intoxicated him with her majesty - or was that just her potent femininity? at that moment, he could not tell.

'You have been destroying the power of the Sybils, diminishing the lustre of their goddesses.' She barked the words loudly, but not crossly.

'I have,' said Kafka. But not after I've milked from them all I could get. The crone from Tiburtine has told me what I must do with the branch to claim its power. And then a world I rule will have no place for helpless idols.'

'But you _do_ believe that the Gods still have power?'

Kafka paused before he answered boldly, surmising that Hera reckoned him a rising force: ' I do. But it is the power of man which grows, and men who inherit the world.'

Hera's smile broadened. 'You and I can help each other. We want the same things.'

'We do?' he asked, and then added with mock servility: 'How may I be of service to you?'

'The Messenger of the Winter Goddess will come to you, I have foreseen it. You will receive the inheritance of Gaia instead of him, and place the branch from the tree of life at the front of your army as you conquer the known world. I will bless you with my power – your men shall be the most lethal warriors, just digital dial-up as the wind. I will place my servants, the Harpies and the Leukrotai at your command. In return, you shall destroy the Sybils, and worship of the primeval gods, of the Earth and the seasons, and in their place raise temples to me. I will at last take my place as the supreme Goddess.'

Kafka looked her straight in the eye, not a glimmer of fear. 'And why do you think I'd need your help?'

'Because the world will not fall at your feet. People fight back, you know that - however pathetic they seem, they always try.'

'So far I've found that most can be crushed.'

'Bodies, maybe, but not spirits. There is disquiet in Neapolis and Camae already, my friend. They wonder of the army you spoke of, the Greek army that was never… there. They question your authority. Led by the women, who still believe in the disgraced Sybil, they organise against you and, sooner or later, word will spread to Rome. Besides, your men are merely… mortal. Has not a sleepy guard already allowed half the scroll of the prophetic texts to be stolen by a common thief?'

'The most important part of the Tiburtine prophecy was retained.'

Hera gave a braying laugh. 'Only through the vigilance of a woman! Join your forces with mine, and I will destroy the spirit of all who oppose you - and she who inspires them - for ever. '

Kafka's voice was very low and deliberate: 'I will serve you, then. But I will also build temples to a _new_ God!'

Hera laughed, wondering what her husband would think if he ever deigned to notice what went on in the world of the mortals these days: 'You mean _yourself_? As you wish. But as a token of my… good will, I shall dispose of the Sybil for you. As a token of yours, you will give me the boy.'

Kafka's chin shifted awkwardly; she perceived his burgeoning frustration.

'Why do you want him?' growled Kafka. 'What use is he once I have the branch?'

He saw the answer in the suggestive fire in her eyes before she even spoke: 'He is worthy to be my love slave,' she whispered. 'But I see you desire him too.'

Kafka said nothing. The air in the tent seemed to be growing thicker by the moment. He wished he could slice it from around him with his sword, swish it away like spiders webs. But it just kept closing in on him.

'Very well,' she said casually. 'Do what you will with him. It is my belief that he still retains an infatuation with the Sybil… you can use it to control him, but you may also find it difficult to possess him until his affection is destroyed. But, when you do tire of him, I will take him - do you understand?'

Kafka nodded silently. He was angry with himself now, angry with his uncontrolled and frustrated desire. She had let him see what he perceived as a weakness - and he hated to be seen as weak.

Hera pulled her hood up tight and left the tent in silence. She wondered, unconcerned, what a gamble she had taken, leaving Nigel with Kafka. Nevertheless, she laughed silently as she reasoned that, whatever the outcome, it was bound to amuse her!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The dell around Nigel crawled with life - as much as the hands of his hostesses crawled all over him!

The hill itself had not looked so high in the valley, but it seemed to go up and up forever, until Nigel was convinced he was climbing the highest mountain on earth. Birds almost saturated the skies; rabbits and deer scuttled in the undergrowth. The ground was strewn with fallen fruits - apples, cherries, olives, figs, and many others in exotic bright colours with which Nigel was not familiar - each still perfect, showing no sign of decay.

The two Hespirides chattered mindlessly, endlessly complementing him, stroking him so intimately that he made numerous attempts to gently push their hands away. As much as their fuss provided comfort, their touch, when unwelcome, still revived bad memories.

But he knew the Tree of Life when he saw it: there, at the bottom of cliffs that finally ended what had seemed like an eternally ascending vale was tree larger than any of the aged oaks of his native land. It's knarled, twisted branches –brown bark, intertwined with shimmering threads of gold, reached high towards the heavens. From its branches, hung its famed fruit - rounded, plump apples, the pure, caliginous gold of an evening sunset.

He was entranced. Wrenching himself from the girls' grip with a mumbled apology, he started towards it as if drawn by an irresistible force.

Thus he never saw the third girl approach until it was too late. With one meaty, punch to the jaw, followed up by an unnecessary knee-thrust in his groin, she floored him.

'Christie! Why did you hurt Nigel?'

The 'friendlier' two sisters rushed to Nigel, as he crumpled into an agonised heap. He clasped his injured 'parts' as much to protect them from 'comfort' as from further attack. All the same, they began stroking his face, smoothing his hair and generally cooing over him. The third sister stood over them, hands on hips, and obviously very angry. Catching a glance at 'Christie', Nigel observed she was almost identical to the first two, apart from the distinctively malicious curl of her lips.

'That bastard tried to kill Tidlius!' she snarled. 'Stop making love to him - we should cast him off the hillside.'

'I didn't try and kill anybody!' wheezed Nigel, trying to curl himself tighter into a defensive ball but to little avail; Arry was now licking his shoulder. 'I don't even know who….err, Tidlius is!'

Christie dipped down and seized him by the front of his tunic. 'The dragon, you fool! _Our _pet dragon '

'Hey!' Arry pushed away her sister before Nigel could respond. 'Don't hurt him! Nigel couldn't have _really_ triedto kill him, or poor Tidlius would be dead. Nigel is the greatest warrior ever!'

Now Nigel was _really_ bewildered: 'I…uh, I'm flattered you think so but, really, I don't think I could have killed the dragon even if I tried, and I _didn't _really try, honest. But he did try to attack my… friend…' The last word stung, but he spat it out.

'You pick your friends badly, then,' scoffed Christie, pacing around stroppily. 'Tidlius is the sweetest thing ever! He would only attack a malicious god who threatens our interests … or a truly evil mortal. He can sense these things!'

'You shouldn't be friends with nasty people,' pouted Erry, twiddling her fingers in Nigel's fringe. 'Are they still your friend?'

Nigel's eyes flitted downward, trying to deny any meaning in their words. 'I don't think so.'

'Good! So we can forgive Nigel, can't we Christie?'

Christie pursed her lip crossly, and then shrugged: 'I suppose we can. He'd best not to try to hurt Tidlius again, though!'

'I promise, Tidlius is under no threat from me,' said Nigel, barely believing he had to convince them of this.

'Wonderful!' Two sets of bare, well-rounded arms hugged him so hard he began to fear for his airflow.

'Let's cook Nigel dinner,' suggested Erry, her voice half-smothered in his hair.

Even Christie begrudgingly liked this suggestion: 'I suppose that might be fun. Let's get cooking!'

'Lovely,' murmured Nigel. He still had a nasty feeling he might be headed for the pot!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'I can't wait to see how grateful that fancy little blonde will be when I rescue her!'

Stewie rubbed his hands together with glee. Sydney studiously ignored him as she forged ahead through the forest, scanning undergrowth as she went for ponies to commandeer for the trip back to Neapolis – or to wherever Kafka had set up his camp. 'By the way,' he continued after a moment, 'how's Nigey-boy? He travelled down with me from the frozen north as far as Neapolis, determined to get that scrap of paper to _you_… of course, I'd have offered him a fair price for it before if I'd known it was valuable. I can't believe he sold it to Kafka!'

Sydney glanced back over her shoulder at him with interest. What with her worry for Nigel herself, and now her intense anxiety about Claudia, it had slipped her mind that Stewie was acquainted with him.

'Nigel never gave the Hexameter to Kafka… willingly, and he is the reason I'm here. If the Gods are with him, which I hope they are, part of the prophecy tells that he's off retrieving a branch from the Tree of Life at this very moment…'

'Nigel is part of the prophecy?' Stewie cocked his head to one side, mulling the matter over. 'That doesn't surprise me. Nobody expected him to live more than a year, but that serious little thing just kept defying death!'

Now he really had her attention. 'What do you mean? You knew Nigel as a child?'

'I've been going up to the mud and snow lands, as I like to call them, for these past twenty winters. Good trade up there, you know. The people show great appreciation for quality craftsmanship.'

'They can't tell your forgeries from the real thing eh, Stewie?' laughed Sydney, but she indicated with keen eyes that he should continue.

'The very first time I came to the realm of Hedenwulf the snows were driving so deep that I ended up staying at the court - or rather, in this drafty great wooden shack on the top of a barren hill, for a month. That's when Nigel was born. I only ever saw the mother once, but I'd never seen a more fragile woman - with her pale hair and face, she looked about as delicate as the snowflakes that kept pouring down from that steely sky! Then she died, just hours after giving birth, and there was this tiny screaming baby with no mother - it nearly broke my heart just to hear it crying. Not to mention, that the cursed thing kept me awake all night! Anyway, nobody expected Nigel to live through the night, let alone get through the winter! The father was distraught about his love, couldn't even bear to even look at the baby – so the king, the father's brother, ordered that the infant be left out in the blizzard to cut short its agony!'

Sydney's lip curled with a vicious disgust: 'That's barbaric!'

'That's exactly what someone said then! You see, fortunately, the king also has a sister…'

'The priestess of the Winter Goddess,' murmured Sydney.

'You know this bit, then?'

'Sort of. I know that she raised Nigel as her own…'

'… and not without a struggle!' picked up Stewie. 'Like I said, nobody expects this baby to live. Yet, I come back next year, and there's this scrawny little boy with a mop of dark hair, just like his father who had by then passed on, running around the stones of the Priestess's temple. By the way, their temples are quite impressive but very, uh, stoney. Sort of stone circles, with stones on top - it's surprising, given the weather there, they don't make more effort with the roofs!'

Sydney laughed. 'I've heard! So why was bringing up Nigel a struggle?'

'Life _is_ a struggle, up there! If it's not the freezing winters, its one plague after another. His aunt told me that Nigel had been mortally ill many times, just in that first year… but somehow he always pulled through. And that was the story of his entire childhood - and of our journey together, down to Neapolis. Believe me, we had some close calls, not least when we were chased by wolves in the forests of Northern Gaulle. I'm thundering through this forest, with Nigel on my tail and the beasts snapping at our heels and I hear him cry out and stumble - I'm sure it's all over for him, then the next thing I know, there's this massive creaking sound and these enormous trees are falling down towards us from both sides of the path! I think, 'Great, now I'm going to be crushed to death!' But the falling colossi miss me - and Nigel. They pulverise the wolves, though! You see, somehow, against all the odds, he always survived.'

Sydney's face was still and inscrutable - she was deep in thought. Since she had known him Nigel had defied death several times in a similar fashion. First there had been the fever, from which none of the other slaves had ultimately survived, then the poisonous berries which had barely effected him. And then, of course, there was the flood. She'd been convinced he had drowned…

'So you always thought he was destined for something?' she asked slowly.

'Hey, you're the prophetess, not me. I don't think about these things. All I'm saying is that if Nigel is mentioned in some sort of prophecy, written by the Primeval Gods, or Zeus on the slopes of Olympus, or whoever, it doesn't surprise me. Somebody 'up there' wants to keep him alive!'

'Let's hope they stay wanting,' replied Sydney wryly. Finding her worries for Nigel were not allayed by all this information, she returned to scanning for ponies and the journey through the woods.

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for those reviews :) They are really, really appreciated!**

CHAPTER TWELVE

Christie danced around the fire. She threw herbs, berries, disturbingly feathery foul, and all sorts of other pieces of flesh and foliage that Nigel could hardly identify into a large pot. The big blonde man, Plutus, who Nigel only vaguely remembered from earlier, appeared on the edge of the clearing, watching with scant interest, but not engaging in the activities. The girls bellowed their greetings to him, and he nodded in reply; Nigel acknowledged him politely, but then deliberately avoided eye contact. He had many questions to ask him, but they all seemed much too awkward to handle right now.

Erry and Arry continually tended to him. They wouldn't let him do anything for himself, however much he protested. Somehow, he found himself resting his head upon Erry's ample bosom while she plied him with sips of syrupy wine from a silver goblet.

Arry popped lusciously juicy grapes and sweetmeats into his mouth. Even the sweetmeats were surprisingly delicious - despite Christie's cooking technique -making Nigel realise just how hungry he was. Noticing his growing keenness to be fed, Arry began playfully smoothing the tastiest morsels against his lips then pulling them away, begging him to say please, and kissing him teasingly before allowing him to eat them.

As the dusk began to fall, despite the sips of intoxicating liquor, Nigel found it all increasingly uncomfortable.

He half-wished he could relax and enjoy the attention, but he hated being touched like this - not being left alone, however much he protested. It brought back bad memories, recollections that had increasingly ceased to matter when he'd been with Sydney, but which now seemed all too recent and real.

As Erry nuzzled her lips into the side of his neck, his muscles went rigid. He scarcely contained himself from pushing her away, although it seemed any action on his part would be useless.

Shutting his eyes in an attempt to block his current predicament out failed disastrously. In his increasingly feverish mind, Nigel was suddenly back outside the walls of Neapolis, struggling half-heartedly in Kafka's grip because he'd believed he could do nothing to help himself. Despite his hooked hand, the battle scarred warrior, had needed little help from his laughing henchmen to bind Nigel, with rough ropes, to the side of the cart.

He could still hear Kafka's harsh, excited breathing as he thrashed him with his long, leather belt, stopping only to demand more information about the Hexameter. He'd told the warrior he knew nothing; that he didn't understand it. Then he said it again, and again, his words catching between sobs he could not hold back, the tears scolding into his burning cheeks nearly as much as the whip seared into his back.

The blows only stopped when he was sure he was going to faint; it was probably the only reason they did.

He didn't think it could get any worse until he felt Kafka's enormous, gloved hand on his bare shoulder; the touch was gentle, kind almost. Nigel had frozen with dread.

The stubble on the big man's rough chin scratched into the back of his neck; he could smell liquor and hot spices on his breath. 'Next time, slave,' whispered Kafka, ' I promise you that your tears will give me even more pleasure. The only tragedy is I have no time tonight.'

Still, the hand on his shoulder, mockingly caressing him where it hurt the most, had lingered far too long. He was so sick with pain and repulsion he could barely breathe…

'No!'

As the vision overwhelmed him, Nigel jumped to his feet, leaving Arry and Erry, suddenly bereft of their plaything, blinking up at him curiously.

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing! I'm sorry…' Nigel hand flew to his forehead, his fingers thrusting back through his hair. 'I just need to be left alone for a while. It's not that I'm ungrateful. You've been wonderful, you really have…'

Christie threw down a big spoon with which she was staring her pot and thumped over: 'You can't go now. We haven't even had sex yet!'

Nigel just gawped at her. Was he hearing wrong?

'It would be a bit of a shame,' sighed Arry, stroking his ankle and absolutely oblivious to his distress. 'It's so rare that we have more than one man for the after-dinner orgy, and we _are_ the harbingers of sunset… what else does a self-respecting nymph do at twilight?'

'We could invite the dragon along?' suggested Erry. 'That would make things interesting.'

'Or maybe you'd rather be left alone with Plutus,' suggested Christie. 'Wouldn't bother _me_! Us girls are quite used to entertaining ourselves…'

'Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!' Nigel, unable to take it anymore, shut his eyes, clapped his hands over his ears and moaned quietly to himself.

When he opened his eyes again, they were all just staring at him – even Plutus looked more interested in proceedings then he had previously.

He took a deep breath, and tried not to snap: 'I don't want to have sex with anybody right now! Not dragons, not men, not even you three - lovely though you are!'

'What _do _you want to do after dinner then?' Christie had picked her spoon off the floor and was now beating it impatiently against the pot.

'Nothing! Well, actually, I wouldn't mind just getting the branch and getting out of here!'

Arry and Erry, who had at last ceased touching him, stared up at him confused and mournful eyes. Christie bashed her spoon even louder. Plutus gave a dry laugh, and began walking over.

'You've disappointed the girls,' he said, as serene as ever. 'I'm afraid they'd been waiting many ages for you.'

'Those two might have done,' spat Christie. 'I can live without _you_, you sexually repressed runt!' She turned her back, and started furiously stirring the pot again.

'I've just about had enough of this!' spluttered Nigel. 'Look, I'm not here to be abused - I'm not even here because I _want _to be! I'm here to do a job…. though I'm increasingly questioning why, in Moreana's name, I should!'

'Haven't you just answered your own question?' pointed out Plutus.

'I suppose I have,' grumbled Nigel, thinking to himself. 'I'm certainly just doing this for _some _woman or other, for what its worth'. He sighed loudly. 'Does it matter which branch I take?'

There was a peel of feminine giggles, causing Nigel's gall to rise further

'You'll have to ask the girls,' said Plutus. 'But I can tell you now that you're only allowed to take a branch from one side of the tree. To pick it from the other side, would be fatal.'

He gritted his teeth and forced a smile in the direction of Arry and Erry: 'Would you be so kind as to tell me which branch?'

They just giggled again and Christie turned back towards him with a gleeful, full-blooded laugh: 'Only one of us can tell you the truth about it! You can only pick one of us, and then you must ask the girl you pick the _right _question. '

Nigel groaned and sank back to the ground, not caring that he was back in the clutches of two of the blonde vixens: 'Great,' he mumbled. 'A riddle. This is the last thing I need!'

Hardly believing he was saying it, he ventured: 'Would it help if I kissed you or something?'

'Sorry,' mewed Arry. 'It can't make a difference. It's our role, you see. Even the chosen one has to prove his worth … are sure you won't have sex with us anyway?'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Now I'm pretty sure they weren't that many of them before!'

Stewie and Sydney crouched low in the undergrowth at the edge of the beautiful wood, gazing out across the desert - which was far from deserted. At least a dozen patrols, each consisting of over ten men, marched in formation across the expanse in front of them. Armed scouts in ones and twos kept watch along the edge of wood.

'Well, we'll never get past that lot,' ventured Stewie. 'We might as well go back and see if we can get our hands on those shiny apples…'

Sydney grabbed him by the tunic and pulled him back as he began sidling off. 'No way!' She hissed. 'Look, over there in the distance - that's his camp. I bet he's got Claudia with him there.'

'You're welcome to go rescue her but, seeing as I'm quite fond of keeping my all limbs _attached_, I'm off!'

This time, it was her venomous glare that stilled him. 'Believe me, if there was anybody else under the heavens, I'd pick them instead of you, but I've got no choice. You're the only one who can read that text on the Hexameter…and my only backup.'

'You need backup, all right! As in your own army! There's _thousands_ of armed men out there!'

Sydney let out a long, withering breath as she gazed across the landscape: ' How in Gaia's name did Kafka get that powerful? I knew he'd made his fortune out of the war and Imperial plunder and I knew he'd raised some men... but this?'

Stewie sniffed awkwardly: 'You know as well as I that he's been trying to get his hands on every relic out there lately. Well, I've also heard that he's been sending scouts out all over the known world, plundering, bringing back jewels, statues, idols and taking advantage of the war to seize the fortunes of shattered cities.'

Sydney's brow creased with thought: 'I knew he'd been targeting the Sybils and Goddess worship in this part of the world, but I'd no idea he was operating on such a large scale.'

'I get about a bit, Syd. In the past year I've hardly visited a village from northern Gaulle to Aithiopia that doesn't quake at the mention of his name. It's almost like he wants to make himself a God or something - people fear him more than Zeus himself.'

Stewie trailed off; he never seen Sydney blaze with such anger. Her voice was a growl, almost guttural: 'With the Sybil's destroyed, and with the branch from the Tree of Life he _will_ be as powerful as a god!'

'That doesn't sound good. But as long as he doesn't interfere with a little free trade, I suppose I don't…'

'Stewie! He's got to be stopped!'

Her companion looked far from convinced. 'You're good, Sydney. It pains me to admit it, but you're the best Relic Hunter there is… and I'm sure you were a damn fine Sybil before you were, err, disgraced… but I just don't see what even you can do against an army!

'I'm not sure yet either,' breathed Sydney. 'All I know is that we've got to get Claudia, the hexameter, and then get back to find Nigel… and there's no time to wait for the shelter of night.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Well, this is just marvellous! So much for being the only one who could retrieve this thing! It's all down to a game of chance.'

Nigel took a deep breath and surveyed the scene. Christie was just laughing at him. Arry and Erry, having renewed their pawing of his legs and ankles were simpering up at him, fluttering their long lashes. Plutus, as ever, looked plain bored.

'I can help you a little, lad,' he stated. 'I can pick out one of the girls who is a liar, but you must pick one yourself first. Then, when I have ruled another of them out, you may change your mind about which one to ask if you wish.'

'I'd better go with that then,' sighed Nigel, now does wanting to get the thing over and done with. He looked down at the nearest girl, clinging to his leg: 'I choose you…err, Arry is it?'

The nymph grinned ecstatically.

'You have made your first choice,' confirmed Plutus. 'Now I tell you that Erry is one of the liars. So now you know that the nymph to ask is either Arry or Christie. Would you like to change?'

'What's the point?' spluttered Nigel. 'It won't make any difference…' he trailed off abruptly - of course it made a difference! This was all part of the test. When he picked Erry, the odds were one in three. Now, if a change to Christie, the odds would be one in two… putting less pressure on him asking the right question.

He looks the most vindictive of the girls straight in the eye: 'I choose Christie.'

Christie tossed her blonde locks, evoking an air of indifference. 'Typical man! You think you're so clever, don't you? But what are you going to ask me, big boy?'

Nigel averted his eyes from her wanton leer. He needed to concentrate - he thought he knew the right question, but his confidence felt so low, particularly after the confusing incident with the dragon, that he just couldn't be sure.

'Time is running out!' hissed Christie, banging her spoon against the right side of the tree.

'Alright, alright! This is my question: does somebody telling the truth, hit their spoon against the correct side of the tree?'

'Yes,' she replied, cackling blithely and hardly filling Nigel with belief in his success.

Still, he was pretty sure he was right: as he saw it, but a liar and a truth teller would have to answer 'yes' to this question if it was the right half of the tree, or no if it was not… at least he thought so.

'What am I supposed to do now?' he wondered out loud. ' I'm still just not sure…'

'That's your problem,' snapped Christie. 'Come on girls, we've wasted enough time on him. Let's have some fun!' She skipped from the clearing. Her sisters sighed reluctantly, but followed nevertheless - although Arry called back to him as she went, 'It's me! It's me - I've never lie to yooooooooooooooou….'

As Nigel stared desperately the tree, however, Plutus strolled over and joined him.

'Now you must use your judgment.'

'What do you mean?' asked Nigel, his voice despondent.' did I asked the wrong question? Should I decide which of the girls I trust? I don't trust either of them…Erry was nicer, but…'

'The girls are just part of the test, but this is all about _you_.' The big man tapped Nigel on the chest, so hard he almost stumbled backwards. 'The decision lies in your hands, remember, as does the fate of the known world.'

'What? The fate of _everything_? Don't be ridiculous! I'm just the messenger…and the delivery boy, so it seems!'

Plutus smiled wryly. 'Somebody has kept the truth of your part the prophecy from you, Nigel. Just pick carefully, and I know you'll make the right decision.'

'What? Who's been lying to me?'

'You know who, Nigel. Just make sure you make the right decision.'

'Please, Plutus, I need to know more…' He gazed up anxiously, but Nigel's pleas were in vain. The tall, godlike figure was already departed the clearing with such resolution that Nigel decided there was nothing he could do to stop him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'This isn't going to be easy… but there's a large enough gap between the patrols that if you caused a distraction, I could slip through.'

'And get caught?' spluttered Stewie. 'No way!'

'You could just slip back into the forest. The troops don't seem to be coming in here and then…' Sydney sucked her words in abruptly as her hand clamped on the hilt of her sword. She turned her head sharply.

'What is it?'

Sydney raised a finger to her lips, her expression serious. There was a loud rustling noise - coming from very close, so it seemed. She could see nothing.

'It must be an animal,' whispered Stewie.

Sydney wasn't convinced but, still with her senses on overdrive, she turned cautiously back to her assessment of the soldiers.

Only an instant later, Sydney yelped. Clasping her buttocks with one hand, she slapped him square on the cheek with the other.

'I can't believe even you'd do _that_ at a time like _this_!'

'Ow!' Stewie pawed his stinging face. 'I didn't do anything!' Dropping his eyes to her hands upon her backside, he smirked. 'I certainly didn't pinch you _there_ - must've been a bug. My, your cheeks are popular with all forms of wildlife, honey or no!'

'It wasn't a bug!'

'Well there is nobody else in this bush but you and me!'

She glowered darkly at him. 'My point exactly. We just don't have time for this…'

They both started as a laugh exploded close to their ears.

Sydney recognised it instantly. 'Dallasus!! Where are you, you spawn of Hades?'

'You fool!' spat Reinud, his voice resonating from a little way off. Sydney quickly spotted him, crouching behind a tree. 'You should have given _me_ the cloak, not waste it on childish tricks…'

The soft, low laughter was still very close and now Sydney discerned that the twigs just beside her were squashed down at eclectic angles. Some of them were shaking softly in time with a mirthful sniffling.

'Where on earth did you two pick up an invisibility cloak?' she demanded.

There was a sudden swishing noise and Dallasus appeared not half a foot's length away.

'You got me!' He sniggered. 'I just couldn't resist! And I think you've earned it after that nasty trick you pulled on us yesterday, trying to keep us from our fame and glory…'

'… and our rightful fortune!' interjected Reinud, who was now crouching beside his partner.

'This isn't a treasure hunt! You have no idea what you are meddling in. Besides, my slowing you down yesterday probably saved your life…'

'You mean from being swept away into the river?' sneered Reinud. 'You didn't fall for that trick, did you? And what happened your little slave boy? Did he get swept away… or has he just got a lot uglier since yesterday!'

He smirked at Stewie, with whom both he and Dallasus were vaguely familiar from the relic hunting game; Stewie returned the favour with a sarcastic curl of the lip. Sydney glared at Reinud, furious at his denigration of Nigel. 'No. Nigelgot across.'

'It _is_ possible then!'

'Not for you it isn't…look, how come you suddenly know all of this? You weren't so well-informed yesterday, and I've a feeling you weren't in possession of an invisibility cloak either!'

'We met a friend,' said Dallasus enigmatically. 'She told us all about you and your double life, and how it's all collapsed around you. She also gave us a few helpful hints about how to get to that Tree of Life, and then out again without running into Kafka and his army. Apparently, there is a vast network of caves under these hills and she told us where the entrance is. But seeing as you weren't willing to share your lead yesterday, I'm not sure we're going to share ours now.'

'Absolutely no way!' snapped Reinud. 'Come on. Lets leave these two to whatever they were up to win the bushes. You know Lori – Sydney - whoever you are, you're really lowering your standards, joining up with this bog- dwelling trader.'

'Hey!' snapped Stewie, jabbing a figure into Reinud's back. 'At least I have some gold coins left in my stash in Rome. Every relic hunter this side of Carthage knows that you're as broken and desperate as Kassandra herself!'

'I am not!'

'Will you two shut up!' Sydney, her fingers weaving into her hair at her scalp, was grasping to make sense of it all. 'Dallasus, Reinud - I know you're angry about yesterday, but you've got to listen to me. Have you even questioned _why _this friend gave you this information? And who were they?'

'It was some pretty blonde I slept with in Florentia last year,' grinned Dallasus.

Sydney couldn't help rolling her eyes. 'And did you question what exactly she was doing wandering about in the middle of nowhere, apparently giving you everything you wanted?'

'She didn't give us everything, at least not this time …' Dallasus stopped dead, catching Sydney's purport. 'We _did_ think it was a little odd.'

'You could say that!' Sydney, despite everything, had to suppress a chuckle. These two had not been over-blessed by the God of wit! 'Look, I know you don't trust me, but you've got to believe me when I say that that woman wasn't your Florentine girlfriend on a little walkabout. I got a hunch it was really Hera - and she is using to you, to trick _me_.'

'Hey, why is everything always about you? I think she just wanted us to get what we deserve…'

'You'll get that, alright - if you don't listen to me! Look, if you're going into those caves, I'm coming with you. It is not going to be easy but, on balance, I think I'd rather outwitted a Goddess - again - than face an open fight against a thousand soldiers.'

'No! This treasure is ours!' Reinud was adamant.

'I don't want to get up to the Tree of Life. I _need_ to follow the caves in the opposite direction, to get out there to rescue a friend from Kafka's camp. Besides, do you really think I'd go after anything with Stewie?'

'Good point,' shrugged Dallasus.

'Also, I give you my word that if we encounter anything nasty in those caves - and I've a feeling we will - I'll fight with you until we split ways. All I ask in return is that, _if _you get to the Tree of Life, you'll not stop Nigel getting back with what he needs. Everything else is fair game… if you can get it.'

'That Florentine wench did mention there might be some nasty beasts in those caves,' conceded Dallasus reluctantly. 'That's why she gave us the invisibility cloak. She was a considerate girl, whoever she was. And I suppose you _are_ a good fighter.'

Reinud still wasn't convinced. 'If you try anything,' he pointed to her threateningly, 'I will not be merciful, _despite_ Carthage!'

Sydney gave a humourless laugh: 'I won't try anything, Reinud. There is evil greater than you know out there. Your petty crawlings after fame and fortune are the least of my worries… now let's go.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Nigel blinked up at the tree, squinting up against a bright, evening sun that would soon desert the high-sided valley.

He took a deep, clear breath absorbing the herby aroma of the trees, the sweet smell of the grass and foliage of the clearing, and the faint meaty odour of Christie's cooking. Focusing on his external senses softened his anxiety little. He was _almost _sure he'd asked the right question. All he had to do was have confidence in himself…

It was then he saw the woman again. Her frost-white face and pale, spiralling curls were sheathed in a darkening shadow, apparently impenetrable by the evening sun that swathed its last rays over Nigel and the tree.

He recognised her instantly and his pulse quickened. 'It's a dream,' he told himself. 'Or a trick…'

Nevertheless, when he strained his eyes to the limit and discerned a mild, loving smile curving on thin sad lips, he thought his heart might break.

'Mother?'

The affection in her eyes spoke louder than any words.

His first instinct was to throw his arms around her, regardless of any consequences but, as he started towards her, she shook her head suddenly. He stopped dead.

'But why not? Either this is a dream, or I'm dead or…'

'You're very much alive, my son,' she soothed. 'But I cannot stay here long. I'm only here to help you understand what you must do.'

'I don't want to do anything, apart from be with you!'

He started forward again, but she raised her hand. 'Nigel, listen to me. I incur the wrath of the Earth Mother just through being here - but I cannot let you stumble. Only you can help our people and you must have faith in yourself. Remember, the truth is callous, unkind - but you know that, my son. Now I must go…'

'No! You can't!'

Powerless to prevent himself, Nigel threw his arms around her. She was solid, real - the woman from his dreams, whose face he struggled to remember in waking life - his mother! He buried his face in her neck and felt her thin arm's envelop him, caressing him, and comforting him as she had so many times in fitful sleep.

But she was cold, so cold.

'I can't… I can't do this. I don't want to go on without you…' Nigel's voice was choked with sobs. For once, he didn't care.

'But you've come so far, my darling, and you're so strong, like I once was - but so few are strong now. Look inside yourself, Nigel. Trust your instincts… and hers.'

Suddenly, he found himself stumbling forward onto his hands and knees. She was gone, evaporated from his arms, and he was quite alone again.

The last of the sunlight had lifted from the base of the clearing, now dusting only the upper branches of the tree. 'I'm going mad,' muttered Nigel, but he didn't bother to wipe the tears from his face as he rose to his feet. He found he didn't care; she was real enough to him - and she told him to trust Sydney, something that he vaguely remembered she'd told him before although he couldn't quite remember where or when.

It hurt too much to think about Sydney at the moment, almost as much as it hurt to think of his mother and her kind touch, so he focused on the task at hand. 'The truth is callous, unkind. It really _must _be Christie then!!'

Not giving himself the time to doubt, he turned to the tree and gave a low branch on Christie's side of the tree a little tug. It was sturdy and rough, much thicker than his arm, and he realised it would be impossible for him to just yank it off. He would need an axe, at least.

Nevertheless, when he gave it what he thought what a futile, second tug, the end of the branch just snapped away.

So Nigel found himself standing there with a branch of a tree half as long as he was tall that apparently held the key to the future of just about everything.

'I suppose this is it, then,' he thought. 'I'd better get back to Sydney.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Thanks for reading. Please Review.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Warning: goriness!**

**Thanks for those reviews. Sorry about all the description in this chapter - please bear with me, there's plenty more action to come, honest :)**

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nobody bothered Nigel as he trudged down the valley, lugging the branch behind him. Although surprisingly light, he cursed it for its cumbersome size. His burden was not made any easier by his retrieving his sword, shield and breastplate from where they'd been discarded in the glen between the bushes. They, too, were awkward to carry. However he suspected the armour, and shield - which had a strap which enabled him to sling it on his back - might be of use, especially if he proved as helpless with a sword against men as he appeared to be against dragons!

After about an hour's downward trail, then, he reached the muddy and blasted bank of the river where he'd left Sydney.

The ground was still very squashy underfoot, following the previous day's flood. The plants and trees, and even the rocks themselves, still looked charred and blasted. Indeed, from the strong smell of burnt turf that hung in the air it occurred to Nigel that 'Tidlius' had been down lately to vent his frustration.

'Maybe he was disappointed by the orgy too,' he wondered humourlessly.

It was now twilight. Pinpricks of silver starlight were breaking out all over the deep, blue sky, which was scarred only by the smoky brown wisps of one or two fair-weather clouds. Squinting over to the far side of the river, Nigel vaguely hoped he might be able to make out the dim figure of Sydney - the _real_ Sydney, who he prayed still existed - sitting on a rock, maybe curled up asleep. He called her name. But there was no reply, and he saw nothing of her.

'She must be searching for supplies,' he muttered, trying to convince himself. He spotted the punt – only distantly familiar to him from his previous voyage in it - tied up to a tree-stump on the water's edge. The best plan, he decided, would be to make his way across alone and then search for her.

'Cooeee! Oh, Nigel!'

Nigel cringed. It was the Hesperides.

'Well, hello again,' he said with a forced politeness, turning to face all three of them - and Plutus, no less. 'I'm afraid I've got to be off now.'

'So soon?' mewed one of the girls, who Nigel suspected was the treacherous Arry.

'Oh, I see you've got your branch,' snapped another - obviously Christie - spying the gold-threaded log that Nigel was trailing behind him. 'That's so typical of a man! He just takes what he can get from a girl and then moves on without a thought!'

'Oh, the irony,' thought Nigel.

'I'd love to have stayed, really I would,' he said, his mirthless smile increasingly sarcastic. 'But I've got to be going. Lots to do, you know!' Nigel started untethering the boat.

'Fine!' sneered Christie. 'Don't expect me to care if you walk straight out of those woods and into an army.'

Nigel paused in his fumblings with the rope. 'Who's army? What do you mean?'

'Kafka's army,' answered the low voice of Plutus. 'He's got several thousand men camped on the other side of the woods. He's waiting for you Nigel. He wants you to give him the branch.'

'Oh.'

The news was a wrench, but it only confirmed his suspicions. Surprising even himself, Nigel hesitated only a moment before returning to his task, albiet with increasingly shaky hands. 'Well, I'll get by somehow, with Sydney's help.'

'She's gone!' Christie spat out the words with a malicious delight.

'I don't think so. She promised me she'd wait.' Nigel climbed into the boat.

'She's telling you the truth,' replied Plutus. 'Sydney has gone. If you cross into the woods, you will have to get past Kafka and his men alone.'

Nigel was silent a moment. He had fought hard to revive his faith in Sydney. Even his mother had told him to trust her. Nevertheless, his pessimistic side still couldn't be sure if his mother – or anything connected with those visions – was anything more than a delusion.

'Poor Nigey!' chorused Arry. 'Alone and deserted!'

'Stay here with us,' chipped in Erry. 'We'll look after you!'

He studiously ignored them but found he could not escape the placid gaze of Plutus - or the vindictive glare of Christie.

'She's _really_ gone?'

Plutus nodded.

Struggling to contain his surging emotions, he asked: 'What should I do then?'

'Ooooh!' squeaked Arry. 'If Nigel really has to go, he can get Tidlius to fly him over those nasty soldiers.'

'Tidlius! Err, it's a very kind offer but…'

'It's the best way,' nodded Plutus, clicking his fingers.

Christy fixed him with a venomous pair of blue eyes. 'If you hurt my pet dragon again, I'll make sure that your manhood goes the same way as that of Alexander the Great's chief eunuch!'

'Really, I'd rather _not_ take him…oh!'

Nigel broke off as heavy footsteps came squelching over the mud. A jet of orange fire sliced through the twilight and a dark shape, its wings half folded behind its back, loomed up behind Plutus. Nigel backed into the boat.

'Here he is,' said Plutus. 'I suggest you take him. It's the safest way, although I'm afraid he won't take you all the way back to the caves of the goddess on the island of Camae…'

'… he'd never leave us for that long!' jutted in Arry.

'But he'll take you beyond the camp. Maybe you will be able to meet up with Sydney somewhere in the desert there.'

Nigel glanced longingly across the river. On the other side all he could see was the tall, looming skeletons of trees and an ever-burgeoning gloom. Somehow, he could tell Sydney wasn't there; nowhere which contained such a spirit could ever feel that empty.

'If you think it's the safest thing to do,' he said slowly. 'I'll take the dragon.'

'Oh, it's quite safe,' whispered Erry playfully, making him jump as she tickled the back of his neck. 'Just make sure you hold on tight!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sydney and her unlikely allies had to double back before they found the entrance to the cave. Having reached where the river meandered out into the desert, they realised they were treacherously near the patrolled desert: they had come too far.

Eventually, however, they located a small dark mouth, under a rocky outcrop that vaguely resembled a man-made dolmen. Pausing only long enough to assemble some crude torches for the journey, they entered the cave entrance which was so low that they had to crawl on their hands and knees.

The cold, flintiness of the year air Sydney suddenly, as she followed Dallasus into the darkness. It was a stark contrast against the humility and unrelenting heat of the climate outside. She shivered, fighting off the overwhelming suspicion that she was crawling straight into Hera's final, fatal trap.

She slackened her pace slightly causing Stewie, who was without a torch of his own and following on behind, to fumble his hands over her ankles and collide deliberately with her bottom.

'Stewie!'

'Sorry,' she heard him chuckle. 'It's just a shame the lighting isn't better in here. I'm sure I'm missing a treat!'

She groaned, but suddenly felt better - much better. It was becoming less claustrophobic every moment: the path was sloping steeply downwards and gradually heightening above her head and they would soon be able to stand. More pertinently, however, the atmosphere of the cave was starting to feel strangely familiar. The gentle movement of the dampish air, wafting up from unknown chambers, heightened her perceptions and sharpened her mind. She knew these sensations well - the warm glow within, the realisation of empowerment – she'd felt this before, in the caves under the temple when her connection with Gaia was always at its strongest.

She knew that the tunnel led to evil, but she was no longer afraid of it. Running in the currents of the air she also perceived the spirit of the earth, the elements and the seasons themselves, and the aura of the goddess she served.

All the same, her sharpened senses were dimmed by Stewie's perpetual chattering. Thus, even Sydney did not hear the muffled voices of Kafka's soldiers - a small group who had followed them from the edge of the woods – as they entered the cave behind them.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Nigel approached the dragon with a growing trepidation, the branch from the Tree of Life safely secured behind the shield on his back. His initial concerns had been about being eaten or incinerated by the dragon itself and relinquishing any possibility of a swift reunion with Sydney. Now he'd remembered something else: he didn't like heights!

He had never liked the steep climb up the ladders onto the wooden ramparts of his uncle's palace. He'd enjoyed even less the precarious swirling sensation in his head that he always felt as he gazed from the battlements across the green plains of his homeland towards his aunt's temple - even though the view in itself had been stunning. Now, he realised he'd destined himself to a situation far, far worse!

Hardly believing what he was doing, Nigel wrapped both of his arms around the stout, scaly neck and, after a little help up from Plutus, swung one leg over the broad back.

Powerful muscles undulated down the dragon spines as it 'mooed' softly. He shivered, partially with awe, but mainly with fear. The dragon scales felt metallic and smooth, and very slippery. He was sure he would slide off just as soon as it moved.

'I'm afraid I can't do this,' he offered with an embarrassed grin. 'I'll definitely fall!'

Christie laughed. 'I wouldn't blame Tidlius for dropping you right into the middle of Kafka's army after what you did to him earlier!'

Nigel was all but ready to jump off when he felt Plutus's calming hand on his arm.

'The dragon won't let you fall, Nigel. He has a good spirit and knows what he carries. Besides, there are others who would not let you fall.'

'That's a comfort, I'm sure, but….aaaargh!'

Plutus stepped aside as two enormous wings - each now seeming the size of a ship's sail - unfurled on either side of Nigel. Hot, dry air rushed against his face as the huge body beneath him surged upwards into the night, causing his stomach to lurch downwards. His ears popped suddenly as the air against his cheeks transformed, almost instantly, from arid warmth to icy cold. He thought he might be sick.

He never heard the voices of Plutus and the two better natured nymphs wishing him well, blessing him on his journey. All he knew was that he must cling on for dear life and dared not open his eyes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Once they were able to stand, Sydney and the others made quick progress down the tunnel. It was an increasingly spectacular experience. The black rock of the walls glistened with a thin sheen of water and, in many places, with specks of quartz and crystal. Occasionally, the narrow passage opened up into large caverns, their ceilings so high they were lost in an impenetrable gloom. From every corner, waterfalls plummeted from cracks into little channels, which crisscrossed the floor and made progress often difficult and hazardous. Less urgent droplets oozed from the surrounding rock and from the half- formed stalactites that hung threateningly over the columns of stalagmites, which rose to meet them from the floor.

Sydney sensed that the tunnel was keeping to a route roughly parallel with the riverbed, rather than crossing into the caves beneath the unknown lands of the Tree of Life. At length, however, they encountered a further, navigable tunnel which jutted off to the north.

'This is where we part them,' sighed Dallasus with a rueful grin. 'Sure you won't come with us, Sydney?'

Reinud looked slightly less enthusiastic, but gave a cringing nod of assent to his friend's request.

'No,' replied Sydney resolutely. 'Are you sure you to would do the right thing for a change and help my friends?'

'Sorry,' replied Dallasus, equally adamant. 'Immortality here I come!' He winked at her, touched his hat and started up the tunnel.

'Goodbye Sydney,' said Reinud. 'You'll regret this, like you regretted that time you left me in Carthage.'

'Oh, don't you worry. I didn't regret _that_!' she retaliated with a sarcastic smile. 'It was one of the best decisions I ever made.'

Reinud snorted and disappeared after Dallasusus.

Out of the corner of the eye, Sydney's spied Stewie looking very twitchy.

She groaned out loud: 'Look, go after them if that's what you want. It's bound end in disaster, but see what I care!'

'Well, if you insist…' He was already moving pretty fast before Sydney grabbed him by back of his tunic. 'No way, Stewie! Believe me, if there was anyone else in the world could ask, I will be grateful, but you're the only one who can help translate the hexameter. I need you! And, Gaia help me, I won't let you let me down!'

'That's quite a lot of pressure you're putting on yourself then,' grumbled Stewie.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Nigel pressed his face against the dragon's scaly neck and clenched his thighs hard into its back. He wondered how high up he was now? Many leagues up into the sky, he imagined. However, despite the bumpy ride, he never felt that he was genuinely about to fall and, as the journey progressed, a reluctant curiosity began to tempt him to actually have a look about him.

Eventually, he eased his head sideways. Almost to spite himself as he was half sure the sight would be awful, he forced one eye open.

His vision was filled with a swathe of midnight blue and a million twinkling stars, rushing across the sky like luminous insects. As he dared to open his other eye, the dragon suddenly veered in another direction and the moon loomed into his view, round and pale and almost stunningly bright. It gazed down at him like the probing eye of an omniscient God, momentarily appearing so close that it seemed as if he could reach out and touch it.

It was all so breathtaking that Nigel nearly forgot his fear. But then he made the mistake of looking down.

Far below, he saw the glare of thousands of torches and camp-fires, breaking up the cold dark of the desert and illuminating the faint outlines of tents. Tiny figures moved in and out of the patches of firelight. They looked like ants but Nigel knew they were men - many men - and it was a long, long way down.

'Help!' murmured Nigel as his head began to spin. He could already feel himself slipping sideways, his grip loosening. His limbs began to scramble helplessly, quite unable to hold on.

The dragon suddenly banked steeply, the momentum of the larger body pulling Nigel's weight back to the centre of his back. He found he was quite steady again and, his wits returning, he took a deep breath and reclaimed his tight embrace of the dragon's neck.

'Thank you,' he breathed. 'That was silly. I promise it won't happen again. I just won't look down!'

A sudden up rush of air, however, caused his worries to return a thousand-fold. The dragon was descending, spiralling downwards towards Kafka's camp.

'No!' cried Nigel. 'Not there, please! We have to go further.'

The dragon did not seem to hear, although Nigel was immensely relieved when he realised that they had cleared the edge of the camp and were plunging down into a barren patch of desert.

'Thank you again,' he whispered, and buried his face into the dragon's neck for a final time as the dark ground surged up towards them for a bumpy landing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sydney and Stewie hadn't travelled much further when they heard the voices.

They seem to come from some distance off, a muffled, almost spectral sound, but the words were clear enough:

'Sydney!! Help!'

Sydney paused. It _had_ to be Dallasus and Reinud. The cries came again, frantic and desperate. They were obviously in trouble.

'We can't go back,' hissed Stewie. 'They made their decision. Let's go find that pretty little blonde thing…'

Sydney shot him a glare, caught somewhere between anger and anguish, that cowed him into silence. She remembered the promise she made to Dallasus to fight together until they parted. He was a rogue and a fool, but she didn't want him dead. She didn't even wish _death_ on the rather more sinister Reinud.

'Come on,' she ordered her reluctant companion. 'We're going back to help.'

The cries grew louder as they ran back up the tunnel and were increasingly mingled with other sounds - much more horrific. Sydney discerned the frenzied tearing of teeth against flesh; a hoarse growling and a loud, bile-curdling gurgling. Sydney knew these resonances, the rhythms and death rattles of war: she suppressed the image of a man convulsing and choking on his own blood. But the cries still came, loud and clear.

When she reached the wide cavern where she had left Dallasus and Reinud, the cries suddenly stopped. She held up the torch. Its flames danced and radiated the darkness around her.

Blood. All she saw was blood.

She retched once, her hand flying up to smother her nose and mouth from the overwhelming stench of blood, bile and death. When she heard Stewie's heavy footsteps arrive in the clearing, then falter and slide, she knew what he slipped on, too, was blood.

It was everywhere. On the floor late remains of severed body parts, jagged bones. There was half hacked torso, blood spurting, sticky and thick, from a severed jugular. Was it _them_ – Dallasus and Reinud? The bodies were too mutilated for her to tell. She was almost grateful.

She heard Stewie throw up, none too quietly, back in the tunnel. Then she heard the voices again: 'Sydney! Sydney!'

Two, four, six, eight and then dozens of yellow eyes, suddenly glowed in the darkness of the cavern, approaching from every corner of the cave. She had the growling again, the gurgling. Squinting urgently, she vaguely made out the outline of a large, wolf-like creature crouching in the shadows,

'Leucrocotae! Beasts of Hades that imitate our voices like hyena, and can be killed by no human weapon…this is Hera's trap! Run!!'

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Tidlius' lowered his sinewy hind legs and his backside sunk towards the ground. Nigel found himself tumbling down onto shaky feet that would not hold him and ultimately into a heap on the sand.

He was so grateful to be on 'terra firma' that he could have kissed the grains - nevertheless, he was still in mortal fear of his proximity to Kafka's camp.

The dragon, for its part, made a hissing noise as if letting off steam - but otherwise did not yet move.

After a moment, Nigel sat up and peered across the desert in the direction of the lights. They blazed clear and close - far too close for comfort - and he could hear the buzz of voices accompanied by the occasional roar of laughter. Glancing up at the dragon, he whispered: 'Can't you take me any further?'

He suddenly felt rather silly: he still had no idea of the dragon could really understand him or not. Nevertheless, the beast replied with one of its subdued 'moos'. Nigel knew exactly what it meant.

'You'd better go then,' he sighed. 'Remember to fly high above the camp again. It's a miracle they never saw us the first time around!'

The dragon cocked his head sideways and, in the moonlight, Nigel was pretty sure he saw it wink at him. Then it cracked open its enormous wings again. Air lashed against Nigel's face as the beast rose into the air and, almost instantaneously, faded to a black shadow then vanished. Nigel stared after him with bleak heart.

It was only then that he realised he had not stopped to gather food supplies and that his armour, sleek and light although it was, would be deeply inappropriate for the hike under the blazing sun that tomorrow would bring. He was also completely devoid of a plan. Even if he made it across the desert, and the mountains, he had no idea how he would avoid capture in the city again and gain passage to Camae.

And what of Sydney? If she was still true to him, how would either of them now know where to find each other?

All these desperate thoughts, however, was stifled by the scream.

It was high, feminine and tremulous, somewhere between a cry and a loud whimper. It echoed across the desert.

Nigel inhaled sharply. He'd only know the girl briefly but somehow he'd recognise that voice anywhere. It was Claudia - and she was calling out from the camp.

Now things were even more complicated. But what should he do?

He suddenly felt very aware of the shield slung on his back on the sword of his belt.

'This is madness,' thought Nigel miserably. 'I can't help her! But…if he's got Claudia, he may have Sydney…still, what can I do?'

Then he remembered the branch - also weighing him down, suddenly digging uncomfortably into his shoulders - and everything made sense. Yet it was such a horrific realisation that his fear was soon superseded by an empty resignation.

'I can't fight him,' he thought. 'But I _can_ bargain. I could try bribing him with the promise of the branch. I can't let him have it, of course, but the distraction might give them a chance for escape.'

Stopping only long enough to bury the branch under a shallow layer of sand, he made his way towards the camp.

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for those reviews.**

Warnings: This chapter contains scenes of violence and non-consensual sexual situations. Nothing too explicit with regards to the latter, but please take note before reading. Thanks.

Hmmm, after Aryea's stunning 'Letter's of Love' it must be an international torture Nigel week…

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

'Leave me alone, you ugly great brute!' yelled Claudia. She turned and kicked the guardsman, who was trying to direct her from the tent with a big, clammy hand, which he had placed on her shoulder. The edge of her sandal caught him hard on the shin.

The man grinned peevishly. 'Your master wants to spend some time alone with you. I suggest you save your kicks for him.'

It was then that she screamed. It had little obvious effect other than to give the guard the beginnings of a headache.

He took her to the front of another, larger tent and lifted the flap of a large, square tent, made of thinly hewn animal skin. Claudia twisted to look away – anything but to look in. The camp was full of big, armed soldiers and brightly lit by camp-fires and torches. She could see nowhere to run.

She never knew what terrible force animated her to step into the tent. She could scarcely feel her limbs. But step in she did, as if overtaken by some awful nightmare-like trance.

The flap closed silently behind her.

It was hardly luxurious tent. Like her own, the only furnishings were a couple of sheepskin rugs, which lined the floor of the far side. Kafka was standing in front of them, stooping a little. He was so tall his head brushed against the sloping ceiling. To Claudia, he seemed impossibly, horrifically large.

Claudia felt his eyes scan her up and down and, despite her flimsy, ornately embroidered chiton and the jewels clasped around her neck and fingers, she felt naked already. She shuddered to her core.

'I hope you're going to behave, my pet.'

His glacial stare probed her for an answer.

'Oh…uh…yes?' she offered quietly. Her mind was screaming - she knew what he wanted: but of all the things that simply _couldn't_ happen to her, Claudia, _this_ was the worst.

'Sydney will come,' she pleaded to herself, the words drifting dreamily across her lips.

Kafka was on her in a flash. His hand clamped around her upper arm and he crushed her little form against his, hugging her so tight she could scarcely breath. She could feel his hardness, his virulent masculinity, and every contour of his body digging into her. There was a predatory glean in his eyes as toyed with her golden curls with that terrible hook. She squeezed her eyes tight shut - then opened them again with a gasp.

The cruel, cold metallic hand was now digging into the soft flesh below Claudia's chin, forcing her face upwards.

His gaze claimed hers in her terror, rendering her helpless to even look away.

'I cannot wait any longer,' he husked. 'Tonight you will not deny me.'

She wanted to scream again; all that escaped from her throat was a blighted, high-pitched moan that spoke to Kafka of an exquisite fear. Encircling her tiny waist with a single arm, he lifter her little body clean off the ground and his lips descended ever closer to hers…

Suddenly, shouts sounded from outside the tent. There was a scuffle, a quick cash of steel and cries.

'Sydney!' squealed Claudia.

Kafka snarled with rage, repulsed by the very mention of the name. He cast her aside and pulled open the flap of the tent.

However, the sight that greeted him afforded him only surprised laughter.

There, struggling half-heartedly between two large soldiers, who held him fast, was Nigel.

It only took one glance at Claudia's petrified face, more childlike than ever, for Nigel to find his voice and a vicious determination: 'Let her go, Kafka!'

'I don't take orders from slaves.'

Nigel fixed Kafka with a forced, venomous stare. He was no longer struggling, and he could feel himself beginning to tremble with fear. He tried to focus on what mattered - saving Claudia - but he knew he could not control his emotions in such a way for long.

The firmness of his voice was already beginning to waver: 'I can get you what you want: the branch from the Tree of Life. I will give it to you in exchange for her freedom… and that of the Sybil of Camae, if you keep her in captivity.'

Kafka moved swiftly, seizing Nigel by the front of his clothes and lifting him up so that his feet dangled some way above the ground. Even then, their faces were not level. Nigel flinched as the metallic fabric of his tunic cut into his back and tightened around his neck.

'The branch! You will tell me where it is now.'

'I… I haven't got it yet, but I can fetch it for you, if you let them go. If you don't… I'll die first and it will never be yours.'

Kafka glanced back over his shoulder, observing the little blonde, now cowering at the back of the tent, weeping uncontrollably. He looked back at Nigel, equally scared but still possessed of a pathetic dignity, the kind of worthy, fragile resilience that was such a pleasure to break.

Most conveniently of all, there was some truth in the boy's offer. If the old Sybil was correct, only Nigel could get give him what he wanted.

Grinning, he spoke to one of the guards over Nigel's head.

'Give the girl back to her father. I tire of her anyway.' His eyes flitted back to Nigel, still dangling from his grip. 'There, it is done. Of course, I will ask if the Sybil wishes to leave the camp as well, but I suspect she would prefer to stay with me.'

Nigel didn't believe him, but it still felt like a kick in the stomach. 'I…I don't believe you… she is still free then?'

'Free to love me as she chooses,' laughed Kafka. Nigel wanted to punch him hard, but somehow it hardly seemed worth it. He _had_ to believe that Sydney was still true.

The next few moments were a whirl of confusion for both Claudia and Nigel. Nigel was left standing, alone but guarded, by the tent as Claudia's father was summoned and she was relinquished into his arms. Citizen Agaue gave Nigel a long, hard look devoid of any gratitude or pity. He was given a chariot and told to set off back across the desert to Neapolis.

It was then that Nigel realised that everybody in the camp was looking at him, staring and pointing. Most were laughing at him; he could already hear the jibes and crude jokes about what fate held in store for him. He willed the ground to open and swallow him up – and even more so when he saw a woman, the only one he had seen in the camp beyond Claudia.

She was standing apart from the soldiers, dressed in a long, dark gown with a hood that swept graciously over her head. Her face was cast in shadow, but somehow he could tell she was young and very beautiful, just by the way the firelight danced in her eyes. 'How low she must think me', he mused dejectedly.

Claudia was lifted on board the chariot. She alone, looked at Nigel with confusion, gratitude and an inkling of guilt.

'Thank you,' she mouthed, forming the words only with difficulty through her tears. 'Sydney will sort it all out…'

Then the wagon trundled off, the night closed in around her and she was gone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kafka seemed to emerge out of nowhere and with a single, effort-free swipe he pushed Nigel into the tent, causing him to tumble backwards onto the sand. He stepped in and pulled shut the flap behind him.

The warrior towered over Nigel, feeling like a God about to bring down his wrath upon the meekest of mortals. Nigel, propped up on his elbows, was quite still. His eyes, which shone a vibrant hue of emerald green, peeped up at Kafka from under a shock of errant fringe; his cheeks were flushed, almost feverish.

He looked so deliciously meek and so blatantly terrified that Kafka almost felt pity. Had the boy _really_ resigned himself to what he knew must be a terrible fate just to save that little blonde, and on the off-chance he might help his beloved Sybil? How hopelessly heroic, he thought, how pathetically romantic. It would not save him. This time, satisfaction was necessary.

'Now,' he began, folding his arms, and looking down with a terrible smile. 'You will tell me where the branch is. And, before the night is over, you will _more_ that compensate me for the temporary loss of my bride.'

It was only then that Nigel's fear began to overwhelm him. 'Why didn't I think this through?' He thought desperately to himself. 'How did it get to this stage so quickly? How did I end up back here with _him_, of all men…'

As Kafka leaned forward to scoop him up again, Nigel lurched sideways, his crazed dash akin to that of a senseless cornered animal, and tried to make for the exit.

It was a plan motivated by panic, not sense. Kafka's hooked hand sounded a metallic crunch as it ripped through the back of Nigel's tunic, skimming the top layer of his skin. Nigel cried out, even as Kafka backhanded him across the face with a casual pleasure.

Nigel was sent sprawling across the sand, his senses reeling and black dots sparking in front of his eyes. He was incapable of resisting as he was roughly hoisted from the floor. A single hand captured both his wrists, forcing them straight up above his head. Kafka's knee, thrust hard in the small of his back, pushed him forward two fumbling steps. Nigel found himself pressed up against the thick wooden pole that held up the centre of the tent.

Kafka crunched Nigel's wrists together painfully as, once again, he barked out orders above his head. Moments later somebody else, a guard Nigel assumed, used thick, leather straps to tie his wrists to the pole, stretched high above him so his toes only just brushed against the sand, and then swished from the tent again.

He heard Kafka laughed darkly as he leant over him, the sweat and heat of the brawny man's body already mingling with his own. Kafka placed a hand on his shoulder, sending a tremour of icy dread down his spine.

'Do you remember that little promise I made to you outside the walls of Neapolis?'

Nigel said nothing, and pressed his face into the coarse, wood post - the last faltering fashion in which he could deny that his worst fears were about to come true.

But silence was not an option. Kafka grabbed his hair, jerking his head back. Nigel's eyes flew open involuntarily and he stared, wildly terrified, up into the warrior's angular face.

'Do you remember that promise, slave?' This time he articulated slowly and clearly, with a sinister, gloating kindness, as if he was speaking to a child.

The word 'slave', however, ignited a spark of anger amidst Nigel's general despair. It was further fuelled as he shut his eyes defiantly and the image of the woman who had never doubted his status flew into his mind.

Sydney. She would never just _take_ this…what would she do…?

But then Kafka yanked his head hard again and pressed the hook to his throat. The image in Nigel's mind was gone, although its message was not, despite his fear. He couldn't fight, but he had to try _something_.

'I'm… I'm not a slave,' he stuttered, his own voice sounding distant and foreign to him. 'And, to be honest, I still don't know _quite_ where the branch is, but I, err, might be able to get it. Maybe we could negotiate… come to some sort of agreement…?

Kafka laughed, warm spittle striking Nigel's glowing cheeks. 'There are no negotiations for slaves! You will simply obey me… but first, I think I'll give you a little taster of what happens when you _don't_ obey me!'

He pushed Nigel forward again so his head hit hard against the tent pole. Once again, white stars flashed in the blackness - and once again, he saw a face. This time it was his mother, pale and kindly but, in its way, every bit as vivacious and determined as Sydney.

Then he saw them both and they spoke to him as one: 'You must fight him. You can do it!'

Nigel let out a stifled sob, burying his face in his now aching arms as a warm trickle of blood seeped from above his hairline.

'How can I fight?' he pleaded silently. As his full-consciousness returned again, the women were gone and his panic burgeoned irrepressibly again.

He could not repress a whimper as Kafka ripped his tunic apart at the shoulders, tearing through the metallic fabric as easily as if it was fine linen. The sleeves were left hanging in rags from Nigel's bound wrists. His torso was completely bare. For a terrible moment, Kafka's hand snaked all over him, squeezing his arms and thighs and slapping his backside, as if testing his malleability. Nigel felt sick with degradation as Kafka grunted his approval and stepped away. Yet he could not even find the spirit to spit out the words of defiance he so desperately sought.

He knew it was coming, but the first bite of the belt still took him by surprise.

The leather burned red-hot into his back. His skin had healed since the previous bout but, newly torn by the hook, it hurt even more then he remembered. His whole body flinched at the first shot of pain.

On the second switch however, Nigel anticipated, trying – pretty much in vain - to twist out of the way. He heard Kafka growl - a low rumble of macabre pleasure - and the third swipe caught him harder than even before, expertly locating the places where the skin was rawest. Then Kafka struck him again.

Nigel bit so hard into his lip he tasted the bitter tang of blood. His own breath came in ragged gasps; he could hear Kafka panting even heavier. The warrior was enjoying himself.

But worst of all, just like before, he just couldn't control angry, humiliating tears. They blinded him, and continued streaking down his bloodied cheeks even once the blows ceased.

He felt the hand on his shoulder again, the mocking caress. Then the meaty fingers grabbed Nigel's chin, twisting his tear-stained face so their gazes met.

A smouldering, pain-addled hatred met a glassy, violence-born lust.

'I will enjoy breaking _you_ all myself,' whispered Kafka, his thumb skimming across Nigel's cheek, mindlessly smearing the blood and tears.

He leaned in, his lips close - far too close - to Nigel's. 'Then, before sunset tomorrow, you will kneel at my feet as you watch your beloved Sybil _and_ her little blonde friend meet a more painful ends than was ever described in the myths of their dying gods!'

As Kafka's words faded to a malicious chuckle, he saw something new flame in Nigel's eyes: a singular revulsion. But he thought nothing of it - the boy had not even strained against his bonds so far. Then, as he took a step back and deliberately turned the belt over, to use it, for the first time on the side with its cruel metal studs, Nigel began to struggle.

He tugged hard at the straps. Blood began to well from his wrists.

Kafka paused. Nigel's face was now twisted towards him, but the boy's eyes were not on him - rather, they had met something, or someone, beyond. The prisoner murmured a single word: 'Mother?'

Kafka swivelled, his fist raised. He thought he saw a woman – pale and unfamiliar - but he blinked once and she was gone. He turned back to Nigel, then froze.

Somehow, the boy had managed to free himself. He was kneeling on the sand, gazing in apparent awe at his bloodied wrists and muttering strangely to himself.

'I'll have that guard punished for doing a shoddy job', he ruminated. But now Nigel was loose, he had a new idea. Casting aside the belt, he pulled Nigel up by the arm.

'Maybe I'll flog you again later, but there are _other_ ways you can entertain me...ooomph!'

Kafka flew back across the tent and then doubled over, clutching his stomach in agony and surprise. Nigel rubbed his elbow and looked up at his mother. She towered, her hair and skin glowing like arctic ice, over her son and the fallen giant.

'Now do you believe me, darling?'

Nigel fell forward into her arms. He was still trembling hard and fighting waves of pain, nausea and shock.

'Ssshhh. All will be well.' She smoothed his hair and dabbed away the blood and tears. 'You're so strong, my love. Like I once was, but my time on earth is at an end. What power I have left, I bequeathed to you long ago.'

Nigel eyes widened as the vague remembrances of dreams crystalised into knowledge as solid as a diamond: 'Mama! You… you're the Winter Goddess! You're Moreana!'

She smiled, brushing back a lock of hair from his eyes. 'But my time is over.'

'Please don't say that. What am I supposed to do… about everything? To save our people? To help Sydney?'

'That's for you to decide. I know you will make the right decision, my son. You're so stong, now.'

'But…'

Nigel broke off as he noticed that Kafka, sprawled on the floor, was regaining his puff and glowering darkly at Nigel. There were only moments left before the demon was upon him again.

He did the only thing his panicking mind allowed him to do: he gave one last, longing look at his mother and burst from the tent.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For an instant, nobody saw him apart from the hooded woman who had scrutinised him earlier. She peeped at him, silently and curiously, through a crack in her tent.

Nigel, still trembling violently, never saw her. He scrambled his shredded tunic back up over shoulders, gritting his teeth as the fabric chafed against his wounds, then picked up his weapons from where the guards had dumped them. His eyes darted about wildly, trying to identify a place to run to.

They were soldiers everywhere. He was sidling - almost aimlessly - down the side of the tent when one of Kafka's heavies spotted him.

''Ere; how did you get out?'

There were three of them surrounding him before he knew it. Nigel went quite still, his mother's voice ringing in his ears: 'Fight, my son. Fight!'

'Fight? But how?' squeaked Nigel out loud. Then he thought: 'What would Sydney do?'

She was always so confident, so prepared, so instinctual. She seemed to have the power to push her fears aside and go with the currents of the elements, the flow of fate, and play it to her advantage.

Nigel knew he _must_ do the same.

He drew his sword. One of the approaching soldiers drew his at the same instant - although he expected the boy to surrender before he hit home.

Nigel glanced at the weapon warily. Then, for only the third time in his life he physically fought back. He threw the weight of his whole body into a retaliatory blow, much as he had seen Sydney do when she fought off the Harpies.

Steel clashed against steel. The soldier was blasted clear from his feet by the impact and smashed straight into the two men behind, incapacitating all three.

Nigel gawped at the groaning heap, but had little time to rest on his laurels.

Kafka was at the door of the tent roaring that somebody should grab him and a dozen men were now closing in around him.

Resisting the temptation to allow his legs to buckle beneath him, Nigel swiped wildly around him with the sword - once again, picturing Sydney in combat.

The briefest clash of his sword slashed two of the men's weapons clean from their hands. Nigel took his chance as the murmur of amazement grew around him. He dodged between the two fallen soldiers and sprinted off through the camp.

It was as if time had slowed down. Aggressive shouts filled the air. Men ran at him from all angles. One he smashed from his path with his rounded shield - pretty much accidentally. He fought two men off at once - both were twice his size, but he all but shattered them by the fly of his fist and the thump of his knee. Another he parried aside with a sword technique he didn't know he possessed.

As strength surged within him, he was convinced he saw lightning flash from the strike of his sword. 'Surely an illusion?' he thought amazedly. 'Surely?'

Then he just ran like the wind - outpacing all chasers until the lights of the camps were mere smudges of reddish-yellow in the distance.

It was only then that his limbs finally gave way. As Nigel, aching from head to toe, sank thankfully into the cold night-drenched sand, he thought himself: 'I never thought I could do any of that. But then again, I've never been so highly motivated….and I certainly never realised I was a demigod before.'

He fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

**Thanks for reading. Go on. Review me ;)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thanks for those reviews. This chapter took me absolutely ages, and I'm still not that happy with it but I didn't want to leave the Sydney/Stewie plotline hanging any longer...and, yeah, I'm getting Sydney and Nigel back together soon - next chapter! I figured Nigel needed a little comfort...anyway, please let me know what you think, and if this story still makes any sense at all!!! I mean, **_**I **_**know what's going on and where it's all going, honest… but it's difficult to tell if it all comes across! Thanks. **

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Hungry snarls seared through the darkness in the caves. Heavy panting pounded even louder than stealthy, claw-ridden paws as the Leucrocotae closed in behind Sydney and Stewie.

'We're never going to outrun them,' whined Stewie, puffing even louder than the dog-like beasts.

'Yes we are!' gasped Sydney. 'Well, _I've_ every intention of doing so, so you'd better just keep up with me.'

'Great!' grumbled Stewie. 'So _that's_ the plan? Run forever?'

'If that's what it takes!'

As she spoke, however, Sydney was scrambling in her satchel. She _did _have another plan - but it was only just taking shape.

There was a roar and a snap of jaws, followed by a rush of air. Stewie dashed by - he could be remarkably swift when he had to be! At the same instant, Sydney found what she was looking for: the vial of Harpies blood, which had survived the flood, cosseted in the bottom of her bag.

She popped off the top with her teeth and waved it out behind her so it's contents sprinkled right across the tunnel.

The Leucrocotae howled and began lapping at it hungrily. Sydney turned on her heels and fled after Stewie.

'It won't hold them for long,' she yelled as she gained on him. 'We're still going to have to move it…oh!'

She nearly collided with her stout companion, who had come to a grinding halt in the passage.

'It's a dead end!' he hissed, wrapping his knuckles against a solid rock-face. 'Which means…'

'We're dead? No way! These aren't earthly beasts. Hera sent them, a little present just for me! If that _was_ Dallasus and Reinud back there, they were just the bait – and even _those_ two didn't deserve such an end. That bitch needs teaching a lesson…what is it?'

Stewie looked inappropriately sheepish for one in fear of his life. 'Look, I know you're not going to like me very much for stealing it from two men who are probably now dead, but I think we can both fit under the…uh, invisibility cloak!' He pulled a drab piece of grey fabric from his bag - the enchanted cloak in its unconcealed form.

'Now don't hit me,' garbled Stewie. 'If I knew they were going to be eaten alive without it I might have…'

'… thought twice before you stole it? I severely doubt it, so you can drop the 'bleeding conscience' act right now!'

'Aw, but…'

'I don't want to hear it! Besides, Leucrocotae hunt by smell, not sight. The cloak wouldn't have made any difference then - and it won't now. That's probably why Hera gave it to them, in order to lull them in to a false sense of security and encourage them to enter the caves.'

Stewie began to look hopelessly miserable: 'So we're doomed too, then.'

'Maybe not.' She handed him the torch and sat down cross-legged on the floor.

'Uh, Sydney, I hate to break this to you. I mean, you're a goddess in many ways - believe me, no goddess has a better _body_ than you - but, you can't beat Hera! Err, what are you doing?'

Sydney had folded her arms across her chest, shut her eyes, and began murmuring a few sacred words about Gaia.

'You're praying? I thought you'd lost your faith in the gods?'

'I never said that!' she hissed. 'I just thought that their power was waning - but that was before they started throwing their toys at me! Besides, Hera isn't the only goddess out there, and if she wants to play nasty, Gaia has long owed _me_ a favour! And, after all, these caves are the territory of the Earth Goddess, not the wife of Zeus!'

Suppressing her own worries that this was a long shot, Sydney began to chant.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Err, Sydney, how long is this going to take?'

'As long as it takes, Stewie! Now shut up, I'm trying to concentrate.'

Sydney uttered the sacred words she'd learned as a girl almost mindlessly. It was the spirit - the ether in the cave - that really mattered. And from the start it had felt right.

She cleared her mind of all is needless clutter and fear and whispered from her heart: 'Gaia – Goddess of the Earth, Primeval Mother of all Life, give us what we need!'

'Sydney… a little more speed here would help!'

She studiously ignored Stewie as the snarling of the beasts grew louder and closer again. She knew she couldn't let her faith dwindle, and fought back tides of fear that would have swamped a lesser spirit.

She believed right up until the last moment - when there was a momentous crash and the end of the tunnel crumbled into dust.

'Woh!' coughed Stewie, wafting away the clouds of detritus. 'Never doubted you for a moment! Let's get going!'

'No!' Sydney yanked Stewie aside and grabbed back the torch, letting it illuminate the new opening. 'The tunnel isn't empty. There is somebody we must let them pass first…'

They could now see that the rock fall had revealed a small cavern. It was apparently blocked at one end, or at least Stewie thought so, despondently. Then, at the back, they saw movement.

It seemed like a small creature at first. Then something long, black and shiny - a tail - caught the light as it whipped from side to side. The creature began to unfurl with sudden, jerky movements. Eight limbs scuttled forwards; a pair of huge, lobster-like claws jutted out in front, rising in preparation for battle. Finally, a long tail curled forward over its body, the bright red tip warning of deathly poison.

Stewie yelped. 'It's a giant scorpion! I'd rather be eaten by the nice doggies… let's go!'

Sydney stilled him. 'No, it's Scorpio! Servant of Gaia. As I said, Hera wanted to play dirty, so I asked the Earth Goddess if she wanted a roll of the dice. Looks like she listened for a change.'

'You mean you _wanted _this monster?'

'Oh, yes - Scorpio on _our_ side. And, for once, I think I'll let somebody else take on the enemy!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Not for the first time in the past few days, when Nigel opened his eyes he was fairly certain he was still dreaming.

He was lying on his side on fine, linen sheets and there was a young woman sitting not far off. She was studying a manuscript with intelligent grey eyes that flickered in the lambent light of an oil-lamp.

Her face was vaguely familiar. She reminded him of a woman he had once admired back home, a girl he had known much pleasure with before she had deserted him for his brother. Like his childhood love, this woman had dark blond hair, which curled slightly as it dusted her shoulders. He instantly found her strong, striking features captivating. They spoke, louder than any words, of a single-minded determination.

As Nigel's mind fumbled to make sense of it all, the woman noticed he was awake. She came over, an inscrutable smile on her closed lips.

'How are you?' she asked. 'You were very deeply asleep. Jupiter's thunderbolts would not have woken you.'

'Was I?' croaked Nigel, immediately feeling embarrassed about his slightly inane answer.

He sat up, wincing and reaching towards the bruising and welts on his back and shoulders. He still felt only half-awake and the dull-ache from the cut above his forehead made him all the more groggy. Yet the pain of the memories of his recent experiences, jumbled and confused as they currently were, was suddenly far sharper than that of his physical injuries. Those of his recollections that should have provided comfort - the knowledge of his mother's identity, and of his own - seemed like badly-conceived fantasies in comparison to the stark, scarring reality of his encounter with Kafka.

The only words he could find were banal: 'Jupiter? Isn't he a Roman God…err, where… who…I'm sorry, um, I'm a little disorientated.'

'I'm not surprised.' She maintained a warm, assured smile as she spoke, although her tones were hasty and hushed. 'Let me explain. My name is Cate. I'm an enemy of Kafka - so I hope that makes _us_ friends. I saw you in the camp last night - you were amazing! I've never seen anybody fight like that.'

'You saw me in the camp?' Although her words had gushed with sincere praise, Nigel was dismayed as the image of the woman in the hood flashed back into his memory. 'Oh… yes, I remember you.' Weakened by the humiliation, he lay back down on his side, half burying his face in the crook of his arm.

'You're a talented warrior,' continued Cate, rather surprised by his reaction. 'You and I must work together if we're going to stop him. Now, listen to me carefully: I'm an agent of Tiberius Gracchus, a Senator of Rome. The Senate has been following Kafka's actions over the past few months, and they don't like what they hear. They sent me to infiltrate the camp and assess the situation.'

Nigel regarded her silently for a moment as he processed the information. She was a Roman! He feared and hated Rome and everything it stood for! Nevertheless, for some reason, he desperately wanted to trust her - but was it just because he found her so beautiful?

'You… you're a spy, then?'

'Yes. And I've earned Kafka's complete trust. I spoke to him just now, while you were sleeping. He suspects nothing.'

Nigel emerged from under his arms, his eyes wide with alarm: 'We're back at camp? We've got to get out of here! If he finds me, he'll kill me!'

Cate laid a cool hand on his shoulder. A strange sense of trepidation shuddered through his body, mingled with an unexpected physical excitement.

'It's all right,' she hushed, stifling his overwhelming desire to pull away. 'I tracked you myself, and brought you back to the camp with just the help of a loyal servant. Kafka doesn't know you're here. But even if he did, I don't see why you should be afraid of him.'

Nigel's eyes flitted downwards: 'I am afraid of him. _Very _afraid. What man or woman would not be? Apart from, maybe…' He trailed off.

'Apart from maybe the son of a Goddess?'

Nigel blanched. 'That wasn't what I was going to say!'

'I know all about you, Nigel. Must I give word to the Roman Senate that _you_ are a threat to us too?'

Nigel shook her hand away. 'I'm not a threat to anybody, apart from maybe myself! Last night… I don't quite know what happened last night, but don't think I'm even responsible for my own escape. '

'I think you were!' Cate leant in close, her voice breathy. 'You're the Messenger of the Winter Goddess, bearer of the Branch of Life, potentially the most powerful man in the world!'

'The branch?' Nigel thrust his fingers back through his hair as another awful realisation struck him. 'We've got to find it!'

'Find it? You mean you had it and lost it?'

'I buried it in the sand, before I went to rescue Claudia!' He jumped up and then swayed a little as world spun around him. Cate grasped his arm with hard, long fingers and offered him a gingerish smile.

'Careful. Even the Messenger of the Winter Goddess might not be _quite_ immortal.'

She waited, watching him with concern, while Nigel took a deep breath and steadied himself. She knew his injuries must hurt him greatly.

'Can I get you anything for the pain? I bathed your wounds, but I also have wine and herbal remedies?'

He dismissed this with a little gesture of his hand, turning his face away to conceal just how sick and tired he felt.

'So where did you leave the branch?' she asked after a moment.

Finally looking at her, he opened his mouth to speak - then shut it again with an indecisive frown.

'You _can_ trust me,' she said firmly. 'Surely if we both want to stop Kafka, we are both on the same side?'

'But… you're an agent of Rome!' he spluttered, almost apologetically. 'Your people would crush my kingdom without a thought.'

'You think wrong. Rome stands for justice, ideals, learning - an order which all citizens will benefit from!'

'Yes,' thought Nigel. 'But what about those who are _not _citizens: women, slaves, and so-called barbarians - those who receive the rough side of your justice?' He said nothing, though; he wondered if it was her magnetic beauty that kept silencing him. She was afterall a woman, so how _could _she claim the power of Rome?

'Look,' insisted Cate. 'We have very little time and, right now, you and I can't afford to be enemies. We have to stop Kafka getting that branch. Where is it?'

He squeezed his eyes shut slowly then opened them again, hoping he'd made the right decision: 'I buried it in the sand… somewhere to the south of the camp, I think.'

'You think? Come on Nigel, you should have been slightly more careful with something that valuable!'

'I'm sorry! I'm not used to this kind of responsibility. Maybe I'll remember when we get out there. But how are we going to get back out of the camp without being seen?'

Cate gave a throaty laugh and took his hand: 'I'm a spy, Nigel. This is what I do. Now watch and learn!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'I'm very impressed, Sydney!' grinned Stewie. 'But why did we have to find a way out of those tunnels into the desert? It's too hot, too dangerously easy to be seen and, uh, _way _too sparse on the shiny, golden apple front!'

'Because we're rescuing Claudia, remember?' snapped Sydney, by now heartily sick of her companion. She was also a little perturbed about where they had emerged, after leaving Scorpio to deal with the Leucrocotae. They were in the desert wilderness, far beyond Kafka's camp. Going back to meet Nigel was now quite impossible. She had to trust that somewhere, in the vast expanse between the desert and the caves at Camae, they would find each other.

'Aw, don't you think Claudia's probably rescued herself by now?' whined Stewie.

'I hope so, but I have my doubts!'

They both started at a low, broken moan, which carried across the sand from a little way off. At first it sounded incoherent, like the wail of an animal - but after a few moments Sydney realised the eerie tones were articulating a name: her name!

'Sydney… Sydney…'

She followed the voice with a growing foreboding towards where a group of hook-beaked vultures squawked and circled, some only a few feet above the ground. Below them, she found the source of the original noise: a barely-living heap of rags, skin, bones and blood. She recognised the creature instantly. Once a proud, powerful woman, it was the Sybil of Tiburtine.

'Tulia?'

'Sydney, my sister!'

Sydney's instinctual compassion went out to the old woman, despite her knowledge of her weakness in the face of bribery and corruption. While Stewie dared not draw any closer, Sydney dropped to the woman's side. She touched her fellow priestesses damp, fevered forehead, her mind frantically calculated if there was anything she could do for her.

'Kafka did this to you?' she asked, her voice a choked whisper.

'Yes, and his men, but….last of all, worst of all…the Roman woman.'

'The Roman woman?' inquired Sydney, then broke off. The old Sybil was injured in more ways than she could count, her limbs twisted and her skin a bloody mass of burns and scars. 'No, don't speak if it hurts…'

Something flashed in the old Sybil's otherwise-dimmed eyes that indicated she was determined to continue: 'The Roman woman they call Cate…' she croaked. 'She set upon me with the most awful methods, to buy Kafka's trust, and find out about the messenger.'

'And did you tell her?'

Tulia let out a slow, sorrowful sigh. 'Our time is gone, Sydney, the primeval Goddesses are weak. I could not _resist_ telling her. Her powers were like mine once were, like yours are still, and she did what Kafka could not: she called upon the Goddess Tiber herself, made the offerings, brought down the visions and I told her. I told her who he was. I could not… resist… '

Sydney found herself leaning in close just to listen, the old woman's voice fading as she gasped for breath between her strained words.

'You... you never knew,' she continued. 'It wasn't in the books at Camae or at Tibertine… but I saw it in final the vision. He is her son, Sydney, Moreana's son… I told the Roman woman that, I had no choice…but I never told her what really matters. He was not just blessed by his mother. To him, and him alone, passes… the inheritance… of…'

'Of what…of who?' She cursed herself as she pleaded, knowing it was cruel, but Sydney found she was compelled to know.

But all was in vain. Unable to muster any last, agonised words, the Sybil of Tiburtine died.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Are you sure that this is where you left it?' demanded Cate.

'Yes… well, oh, I'm sorry. I did everything in such a hurry and I just can't remember!'

Nigel, the hood of his cape pulled down tight over his head, glanced back nervously towards the camp. Dawn was breaking and he was terrified of being spotted again, despite the matter that Cate had obviously wormed her way into a position of respect in the camp. Nobody had questioned her as she left with a hooded stranger.

Nevertheless, after a short while of fruitless searching, Nigel's foot sank into soft, newly-turned-over sand and he stumbled backwards.

Cate was crouched down and investigating the pit in an instant.

'Well, if you buried it here, it's been found! Couldn't you have dug just a little deeper?'

'I'm sorry! I wasn't really thinking straight.'

His companion hooked her hair behind her ear agitatedly. 'If Kafka has it, he'll have placed it under heavy guard by now. Do you think you can get it back off him?'

'What?! No… I'm sorry. I just couldn't do it! I don't know what you think I am, but I simply can't!'

'Nigel! Seasoned warriors fell at just a touch from your sword last night. As you fled the camp, two men lay dead!'

'Dead!' stuttered Nigel. He sunk down onto his haunches in the sand. 'I…I had no idea!'

Nigel looked mortified, although Cate could not understand why: 'You were magnificent,' she reassured him, her voice tinged with a familiar affection. 'It was like watching Achilles himself before the walls of Troy!'

Nigel shook his head adamantly. 'I'm no warrior. Even if I do have some sort of power, I obviously have no control over it. I…I never meant to kill!'

Cate scrutinised him closely. Granted, she thought, Nigel was a little dishevelled and disheartened-looking right now. But it was hard for her to believe that anything would long diminish his radiance.

She hungrily drank in the sight of his perfectly proportioned features and lightly toned physique, assets that would easily match the most idealised and admired statue of a young God. Yet what was so tantalising was that she had _seen _him in combat, with the moonlight shimmering golden in his hair, the silver sword flashing in his hand, and an expression she had read as a ruthless lust for victory. He had filled her with a passion she thought herself no longer capable of. What must she do, she wondered, to make him act like the conqueror he must be?

Nigel, more opaquely, regarded her also. His mistrust mingled with a desperate need.

'One must kill or be killed in this world, Nigel,' whispered Cate, her hand slipping over his as it rested on his knee. 'But surely you know that…'

Nigel's fingers tensed as she touched them, but he did not move away. He could feel her warm breath on his neck, mingling with the cool breeze of the desert night. It ought to have felt so right, yet _something_ felt wrong. Was it his memories of last night's ordeal - of being so cruelly used - that still made him feel drained, and sick to his core? Or was it that Cate, attractive and intelligent though she was, simply was not Sydney, the woman her adored yet who he doubted would ever love him back?

He wanted Cate to _like _him, all the same, but that was another problem. Did she like _him_?

'I'm afraid I'm really not what you think I am,' he said slowly, staring down at their entwined fingers. 'Besides, you still haven't told me how you know about me? Even if it isn't all true!'

'I can't say, but I have my sources. You _can_ trust me. '

'Well, whatever happened last night, if your 'sources' told you that I could fight Kafka and his army alone, they were wrong. I'm sorry.'

Cate accepted his word without anger – or, at least, without showing it in any way other than withdrawing her hand from his knee. 'So be it. I've got no choice but to send to Rome, then. Although by the time help arrives, Kafka is bound to have made a move.' She muttered an oath.

'Sydney would know what to do,' sighed Nigel.

'Who? Oh, you mean the disgraced Sybil of Camae? I heard she was waging a vendetta against Kafka. Is she still alive?'

'Why shouldn't she be?' he demanded, with a renewed energy that Cate found disturbing. She narrowed her eyes questioningly.

'I've heard she is a formidable woman,' she articulated carefully. 'Do you know her well?'

'Quite well. She helped me on the journey to get the branch.' Nigel's gaze flitted away from hers again.

A thoughtful smile ruminated on her lips. 'Is she you lover?'

He almost jumped a foots-length into the air. 'No. Of course not! She was supposed to meet me after a retrieved the branch but she was waylaid… or something. We need to find her.'

Cate looked doubtful. 'We should head straight back to the city. Now I've deserted the camp, Kafka might get suspicious of my allegiances.'

'But…'

Cate raised two fingers to his lips. 'No 'buts'! We will have a better chance finding her there anyway. And besides…' Her fingertips slipped to his cheeks, gently urging his mouth towards hers. 'Besides, you're too valuable a weapon to risk!'

'I… I still think you're wrong about me…but…'

She withdrew, the very second she seemed on the verge of receiving his kiss: 'No 'buts', Nigel,' she husked. 'The man I want is the one who's going to prove me right!'

**Thanks for reading. Please review**.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thanks for those reviews! I thought I'd better update quickly so as not to leave Nigel and the clutches of Cate for too long ;)**

Nigel and Cate hastened back towards Neapolis, crossing the desert and nearly reaching the far side of the mountains in a day and a half. Cate's highly-trained senses meant they remained undetected, despite Nigel's persistent clumsiness at riding and antipathy towards his horse.

He grumbled constantly to himself as the animal bumped him down the rough, mountain-side terrain.

Cate regarded him with a wry amusement. 'You need to be more authoritative with it - show it who's in charge!' She pulled the reigns of her own horse commandingly, chivying it back to where Nigel's steed had come to an abrupt and uncalled for halt.

'I'm trying, really I am! It just won't listen!'

Cate laughed affectionately, tossing her hair. Nigel laughed with her then looked away with a flirtatious blush. These two days with Cate had been hard work, often wordless and awkward, but… nice. She seemed so pleasant, and she really _was_ pretty.

'You're a powerful warrior, Nigel,' she said suddenly. 'Why don't you act like one?'

'Because I'm not!' he tried to laugh again, but suddenly everything felt very serious. 'I keep telling you, the man you saw fight the other night - he wasn't really me. I've lived twenty summers, and…and…well, to tell you the truth, I've rarely been brave enough to even raise my fists to another man. If I drew my sword right now, I would scarcely know what to do with it.'

'But you were magnificent. Anybody could see the blood of the gods flowed in your veins, of a great warlord…'

'I'm not a great warlord either! I don't know if I could even do it again, I really don't. I'm sorry.'

'Surely when you fought off those men you somehow felt… different? It must have had _some_ effect on you?'

Nigel shrugged tiredly. He suddenly wondered if Cate would hate him if she ever let herself understand that the emotion that had really fuelled his 'magnificent' escape was fear.

'I suppose it did feel…strange, but it was more like a dream than anything. I couldn't believe any of it was happening - that I was getting away from Kafka at all. But then when you told me I…I…I killed those men… I didn't know what to think. Even if I _could_ fight like that again, what good is it to me if I can't control it? What if I ended up hurting those I, err, those I love?'

Cate gave a breathy chuckle, ignoring the weight of his final words. 'Surely your only fear should be if your powers fail you and you become helpless?'

'Maybe,' he muttered and, without even a thought, he urged his horse onwards into a canter up the hillside.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Getting into Neapolis on foot was easy. Too easy. While Nigel kept his head down and his hood up, Cate kept alert as they slipped straight through the little-known backdate and into the still, quiet street.

'What do we do now?' hissed Nigel.

'I need to find my contact and get word to Rome about Kafka.'

'What about Sydney?'

'That's up to you. We can ask around, I suppose, find out if anybody has seen her.'

Cate's voice was drowned out as the air filled with the sound of trotting hooves upon stone slabs and a contingent of citizen-soldiers rounded the end of the street, dressed in shining metallic helmets and breastplates and armed with swords and javelins. She turned quickly - her mind calculating fast - but now saw that their escape from city was blocked by at least ten men and that even the back-gate was swinging closed.

She grabbed Nigel's arm as he started a desperate dash towards the entrance of one of the small, mud houses that lines the backstreet. 'No! We'll never get away with hiding. You _have _to fight!'

'What?' squeaked Nigel. 'I can't! Not all of them!'

'There are far less men than last time. I'll stand by you.'

His face creased with the anguish of uncertainty: 'I don't know if I can!'

'It's them or us!' she demanded quietly.

The soldiers were surrounding them now. As one barked a command to surrender, Nigel's hand drifted tentatively to the hilt of his sword.

It fell away again as he heard the shouts of more voices and a great pounding of collective footsteps. As Nigel dithered, a whole crowd of people came surging along the street. On hearing the clamour, more emerged out of the squalid, little houses.

The newcomers were far less formidable than the citizen-soldiers, at least as individuals. Most of them were quite shabbily dressed, tell-tale of their being the plebeian classes of the city. There were angry-looking women brandishing bronze spoons and sharp knives, bakers armed with rolling pins and butchers armed with meat cleavers. Nigel thought they looked even more threatening - and determinedly cross - than the soldiers!

'Fight!' hissed Cate.

'There's hundreds of them! I don't know what to do!'

'For Mars's sake, Nigel, you _are_ a demigod!!!'

'But there are women and children…and not all the men are soldiers! Even if I can take them all on, what if I kill somebody who doesn't deserve it by mistake?'

Cate thrust her hair back in frustration. 'Agh!!'

An important looking citizen wearing a long, gold embroidered Toga had, with some difficulty, pushed his way to the front of the encircling crowd.

'You are the messenger of the Winter Goddess?' he asked. 'The one they call Nigel?' His words were accompanied by a throb of murmured anticipation from the crowd.

'I…uh… yes, I am. '

'Then you are an enemy of this city. You must surrender come with me to the Senate.'

The guards, however, were too slow. Nigel's uncertain answer was swamped out as mob surged forward and a dozen angry hands seized him and Cate. Fingers ripped at their clothes, flesh and hair, quickly stripping them of their weaponry and lifting them up onto a plethora of rough arms and shoulders. Cate was quickly torn from Nigel sightline - leaving him with a strong sense of guilt amidst his general panic.

'We come in peace?' he pleaded in vain. 'Please let _her_ go, at least!' In response, somebody struck him hard on the back of the head with a wooden truncheon and everything became very hazy.

As he struggled to remain conscious, Nigel found it difficult to understand what was being said around him. He was jostled forward, constantly pinched and tweaked without a care for the bruises and welts revealed by the rips in his clothing and the scarring on his wrists. Nevertheless, the crowd's sentiment soon became clear enough:

'He betrayed us all!'

'He gave the branch to Kafka!

'He will try and destroy the city…'

'No,' entreated Nigel. 'You're wrong. I mean you no harm, really I don't!' He was silenced by a hard slap to the face and he bothered to say nothing more.

'I've _got_ to fight,' he thought miserably. 'But how do I get away from _all _these people? Why won't they listen?'

He wriggled and thrashed a little, but felt increasingly helpless, not even noticing when a random kick deprived one of his gurning captors of his two front teeth.

'I don't think the other night was me at all,' he thought miserably. 'It must have been something to do with my mother. I wonder where she is now? She's despaired of me, no doubt!'

His worries grew, moreover, when the forwards momentum stopped and the increasingly deafening shouts and cheering around him told him something else was afoot. Nigel registered that they had reached the town square. He was in front of the Senate house with its tall, austere columns, where he had been with Sydney at the very start of their journey. But the focus of the crowd wasn't on the assembly-house or even on him anymore. They were all fixed upon the rope that had been thrown over what looked like a hastily constructed wooden gallows in front of a long, grand looking stoa.

His breath caught in his throat and he lashed out with all his limbs at the sturdy men that held him in their grip. Two of them fell away, stunned. They were instantly replaced by others. The stillness of fear claimed Nigel again as he realised he was being compulsively propelled towards the gallows. Devoid of a plan, he stopped struggling.

'Where was Cate?' he thought dejectedly. He sincerely prayed he hadn't condemned her to the same fate. If he had, any attempted escape would be unthinkable unless he could help her too.

He only saw her again as they dragged him up onto the stack of barrels that provided a makeshift platform beneath the dangling ropes. Cate's clothes were ripped and she was bleeding from a cut beside her eye. She cradled one of her arms to her as if it was twisted, or broken even.

The sight of her made Nigel's stomach clench with anger - yet her injuries had not dampened the defiant lustre in her eyes and her teeth were gritted against her pain. She parted them to mouth to him just a few, clear words: 'Nigel! You've GOT TO FIGHT!'

He nodded, firmer this time, and sincerely wished he hadn't lost his sword! Nevertheless, whatever he was going to do, he needed to do it quickly. A man in a grim, grey hood was now pushing him towards the dangling noose. Another was forcing Cate up onto one of the higher barrels and lowering the rope around her neck.

The barrel was kicked from under her legs before he knew it; the bellows of the crowd drowned out his cries of horror. Swiping his erstwhile executioner from the platform with one, mindless shove, Nigel dived forward, taking her weight on his back as she retched for breath and clasped wildly at the thick rope that seared into her neck.

'Whhhhhhhhhhhhiz!'

The arrow came from nowhere, zooming across the marketplace. Cate collapsed onto Nigel shoulders; the crowd gasped.

Nigel looked up, but he didn't need his eyes to confirm where the arrow came from. On the other side of the marketplace, was a whirlwind of leather and steel, already warding off a dozen comers. It was Sydney.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Nigel's heart was racing in the new way as he lowered Cate gently onto the platform. She was still distressed and red in the face, her breath ragged.

'Sssssssssh, it's all right,' he whispered. 'Sydney is here now. All will be well.'

He jumped to his feet, punched one of the reviving executioner's in the stomach and incapacitated him again. He grabbed his sword and a renewed rush of adrenaline brought with it a hitherto absent excitement at the task ahead. Nevertheless, he did wonder quite what even Sydney could do, let along him with his mistrusted 'powers', against such a seething mob. And how could he get across to help her without leaving Cate defenseless? These thoughts - which occurred as a turn to face at least two-dozen aggressors – were soon interrupted by a blaze of trumpets.

A group of grandly dressed men on horseback galloped into the square, accompanied by several dozen of the citizen-legionnaires. Amongst them, Nigel recognised the man in the gold-enriched Toga who had spoken to him a little earlier and Claudia's father, Citizen Agaue. Although there were still cries of 'Kill the Messenger,' the general tumult began to fade as the angry mob lowered their fists and meat-cleavers.

'This is not the way of civilised people!' cried one of the elders. He looked across at Sydney, then up at Nigel who now cradled Cate in his arms. 'It is the request of the citizens of Neapolis that the Sybil and the Messenger come in peace to the Senate.'

'With pleasure!' yelled Sydney. 'If you tell your people to stop trying to hang my friends!'

The Senator nodded. 'No hangings today. All non-senators are to return to their homes.'

There was a disappointed hum of voices, but the populace was already beginning to leave. For the first time, across the sea of people between them, Nigel and Sydney's eyes met.

'I knew I could believe in you,' thought Nigel. '

The many burning questions both had for each other were quickly forgotten under the sheer jubilation at seeing each other again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The real reunion, however, was to wait just a little longer.

Sydney and Nigel were both brought separately in front of a large assembly of elders, who peered down at them from a semicircle of rising, stone seats, a mass conglomerate of bald heads and togas.

Sydney never heard the sentence passed on Nigel, who went before her, but she knew before the voting tabs had even been counted that _she_ would be found guilty. She could smell the lazily unanimous sentiment in the air. It was just too easy for them to condemn her for deceiving the people with false prophecies, and of plotting to destroy the city - much easier than confronting Kafka about his deception.

'Just don't expect me to come running next time you have a little problem with Harpies,' quipped Sydney, too unsurprised to be angry.

Nevertheless, as she was taken across the square to the prison house, her final punishment yet to be decided, she was pleased to see a group of angry young women shouting for her release.

'At least I still have _some_ friends in this city,' she thought, and yelled her thanks.

The iron door clanged closed behind Sydney as she stepped into her the drab, grey-stone compartment. A key turned in the lock behind her. For a second she thought she was alone, but then she discerned the hushed rise and fall of breath. Straining her eyes, the limited light from a tiny, barred window afforded her the sight of a smallish figure, huddled in a corner. There, with his head rested on his hands, and apparently asleep, was Nigel.

She hurried to his side and, mindful not to wake him, she gently lifted his head and shoulders into her lap. He muttered a little in his slumbers, but she couldn't make out the words.

She stoked her fingers gently over his forehead, exhaling slowly and remembering the first time she held him like this, back in Camae. Things had seem so simple between them then… and now? She just didn't know any more. But a pleasure at being close to him again tingled through every sinew of her body.

A smile glimmered on her lips as his eyes slowly opened, and then widened with joyful disbelief.

'Sydney!'

'Hello, Nigel. I didn't mean to wake you…'

'Sydney!' Lifting himself up, he flung his arms around her neck, burying his face in the silky hair on her shoulder. 'It's been so awful. I didn't know if you were dead or alive.'

'Likewise,' she breathed. 'I'm so sorry I didn't wait for you by the river. I thought I had to go and help Claudia. But, from all I've heard since, it seems you were the one that found her.'

They both pulled away, staring at each other breathlessly and unable to contain their smiles, despite the seriousness of their situation.

'Have you seen Claudia?' asked Nigel, after a moment, breaking the sublime tension with so much left unsaid. 'Is she all right?'

'I haven't spoken to her.' Sydney still grasped his hands. 'Her father's wagon thundered past us in the desert a day or so back. He didn't see us, but I saw them, so I knew she'd escaped. But her father then told everybody that you'd joined forces with Kafka for your own purposes.'

'I'm supposing that hasn't made me very popular with the citizens of Camae?'

'Err, no!' said Sydney, wiggling her eyebrows ironically. 'Nor with the citizens of Neapolis, who rolled over like puppy dogs for Kafka, but still think they've got the right to yell 'traitor'! Of course, I guessed what had really happened – that you'd offered the branch in exchange for her freedom. That's right, isn't it?'

Nigel concealed his cringe, wondering quite how he could break the news to her about his having 'lost' the branch anyway: 'Something like that. I, um, didn't exactly _give_ him the branch… '

'I knew you wouldn't, but it was still very brave. Did she… did Cate help?'

Nigel's gaze lowered swiftly - his escape and Cate felt like an even more uncomfortable topics. 'Err, no. I didn't meet Cate until after I got away… and I'm not sure how I did _any _of it really.'

'Nigel!' Her knuckles brushed him softly on the side of his face, forcing him to look at her again. 'You have found out, haven't you? Who you are?'

'I… I think so. But I've not known for long, only since…I never lied or kept anything from you. '

'I know, I trust you. I spoke to the Sybil of Tibertine - her prophecy spoke of you, although was not time for her to tell me everything before she died. Nigel, you _do _know that you are very powerful? '

'Sydney, please…' he moaned, touching his forehead and half-hiding his face. 'I'm _not _powerful. At least, I don't _feel _powerful. In the town, half of me wanted to fight but the other half was just too scared of what might happen … until it was nearly too late. Cate could have died and it would have been all my fault! And now I have absolutely no idea how we're going to get out of here alive. I suppose they found you guilty - they did me!' He looked up and shot her an ironic lop-sided smile. 'Claudia's father was the chief witness.'

Sydney, dryly amused but still not surprised, arched an eyebrow. She just hoped that Claudia herself had not been corrupted by Citizen Agaue's easily-swayed opinions.

'It will be all right,' she said firmly, squeezing his arm. 'We'll get out of here, and you'll get used to your new abilities. It's quite a gift.'

'But _what _is? All I know is that my mother was the Goddess. I don't even know what I can really do…and I don't know that I want to!'

'Of course you do.'

'I'm not sure.'

'Hey, everything will be all right.'

Nigel squirmed awkwardly as Sydney tried to pull him into a hug again. For some reason, she felt a stab of jealousy.

'Are you and Cate lovers?'

'No! She _is_ beautiful and… well, I think she might have liked me a bit, but only because she believed I was somebody I'm not, a great warrior… she probably knows better now.'

'But do you care for her?'

'I care for her as a friend… but I think I disappointed her. Like you, she expected more of my… powers.'

'I don't expect anything of you,' said Sydney sincerely. 'Just for you to be yourself… but I was wondering. Do you really know who _she _is?'

'You mean do I know she is a Roman spy working against Kafka? Yes, I do.'

Sydney nodded slowly. 'And a torturer?'

Nigel's stared at her a moment, confounded: 'What? No…no… it isn't possible. She would have told me!'

'How else do you think a woman weaned her way into Kafka's trust? Cate's talent is that she can offer both sex and violence – and that's she's good at her job. It was her that forced the last confessions from the dying Sybil of Tibertine, and Kafka must have had had no idea she was working for Rome.'

'But…but what did she do? No… I don't want to know. It's all too barbaric!'

Sydney laughed humourlessly: 'Wise words from someone most Greeks would call a barbarian! Look, I don't want to turn you against her. She's on our side – sort of. I just thought you had the right to know. I'm sure she was better company than Stewie, anyway. He travelled with me to the city then disappeared at the first sign of trouble – literally! I suppose he's propping up the bar of some downtown taverna by now!'

Nigel had slumped down onto the floor against the wall, resting his head back against the cold, damp stone, and shut his eyes. Deep down, he knew Sydney was telling the truth about Cate, but his surface emotion was one of slight resentment: 'What if you're wrong about her? The Sybil of Tibertine could have been lying. She seemed so…'

'Nice?' offered Sydney, sitting down next to him.

'Yes…oh, I don't know. I don't know who I can trust any more.' He turned away from her a little and, as he did so, he torn to nick slipped off the shoulder. He pulled it back up quickly, but not before Sydney caught a glimpse of his scars.

He instantly felt his cheeks glow a humiliated pink as she gasped, and pulled the tunic down to see better.

'Nigel! Who did this to you?'

'Who do you think?' he answered snappily, flinching as she touched his shoulder with the very tips of her fingers, although he knew she meant comfort.

'But how? You never said you were taken... I had no idea you make such a sacrifice for Claudia's sake! Tell me what happened?'

'I didn't have much choice. I knew he had Claudia, so I offered to go and get him the branch in exchange for her freedom…and…then…' Nigel groaned, muttering a curse at his deepening blushes, and rubbed bridge of his nose distractedly. 'I'm sorry, but we've been here before… I really don't want to go through it again. All I can say is that…that…this time I got away, but only with my mother's help. It was her power, not mine, that freed me, I'm sure. But the outcome is even more terrible than last time. Then I only lost the hexameter. This time, I buried the branch in the sand, and then… it was gone. Kafka's men must have found it. '

Sydney nodded silently, processing all this information. She suppressed her first desire to hug him again as he backed away from her, curling himself up against the wall. Somehow, his revelation about the branch didn't matter. That could be dealt with. But the fact that that Nigel had had to face Kafka alone, and had apparently been powerless against his abuse, made her feel sick to her stomach. It was _everything _she'd set out to avoid.

'Its not so bad,' he lied, reading her concern. 'Maybe us so-called demigods don't feel the pain of you lesser mortals!' He laughed ironically, but Sydney knew he felt no mirth.

'Oh Nigel!'

Casting caution aside, she threw her arms around him, taking great care not to aggravate his wounds, and pulled him back to her. She felt him tense for a second, then exhale slowly and unevenly. His head sank down on her shoulder, and his arms coiled around her waist.

'I wish I could do something for the pain,' she whispered, feeling him tremble slightly. 'I'm so sorry. I should never have left you.'

'You never did,' he replied, his voice a low, unsteady husk. 'You… you were with me all along. It was you that told me to fight… taught me to fight. You…and my mother. And, even though the beating was far worse, it wasn't as bad as before. This time, I wasn't alone.'

'I'm glad if I helped,' said Sydney, her words feeling hopelessly inadequate. 'But you were so brave. I wonder if Claudia even knows what you did?'

'I think she does,' breathed Nigel, blinking back the tears that flecked his lashes. 'But I'd rather she didn't.'

She stroked the back of his hair; it felt wonderfully silky and soft - like the hair of a demigod ought to, she mused. Yet Nigel had always felt delicious to touch…

'Oh, Nigel,' she whispered again, but this time very different emotions had started pulsing through her.

Almost without thinking, she planted the kiss on the top of his head, and then, leaning down, she dropped one on his forehead too.

Nigel shifted, accidentally skimming his cheek across her breasts, and sat up. She couldn't quite tell if he was angry, or merely flustered: 'What are you doing?'

'Uh, kissing you?'

'What for? To make me feel better?' He wriggled away from her a little. 'You don't have to, I can…handle things.'

'I'm not saying you can't,' protested Sydney. He had shifted into a clearer light now; she was startled by the wounded intensity in his light, hazel eyes. 'I just wanted to…'

'Wanted to what?'

Sydney paused, drifting her gaze over the delicately-sculpted contours of his cheekbones, and his eminently kissable lips which, right now, verged on a self-righteous pout. His pale complexion was still nigh-flawless, despite the bruises.

She was attracted to him, she could not deny it. That she loved him, as a friend, had been crystal clear in her heart since he was taken from her at the river, if not before. She was also fairly sure that he adored her back, although his words about Cate had afforded her niggling doubts.

At the same time, she guiltily recalled the first time he'd come to her at the temple, hurt by Kafka's rough treatment, and how she had taken advantage of his helplessness. Yet this time, somehow, Nigel seemed far from helpless - as if mere days had brought upon him the experience and strength of ages.

His silence demanded an answer.

'I wanted to make you feel better?' she offered.

'Oh.'

Nigel nodded quietly, now feeling the awkward one. Had he just over reacted, like he always did, and over-read the signs?

He peeped at her, slightly embarrassed, from under a stray lock of fringe. He was trying to work out if she was annoyed with him, even as she attempted to discern if he was thinking of her or of Cate.

'In the name of the Summerlands, Nigel - why don't you ever listen to me?'

Nigel yelped as his mother shouted in his head.

'For goodness sake, she loves you, even if she can't quite work it out either! Kiss the girl!'

Sydney, who saw and heard nothing of the Winter Goddess, looked at him curiously - but only for a heartbeat.

A surprisingly strong arm suddenly enveloped her waist, scooping her towards him; his other hand cupped the back of her neck. Nigel's lips lingered only for a moment, moistened and parted, and then claimed hers with an assurance she could scarcely connect with the timid young man she knew.

It was a kiss like no other. Sydney's body went limp and her senses soared to the heavens. All she could feel of the physical world was him holding her tight and his mouth moving sensuously, as he caressed and consumed her with an overwhelming power.

It was over all too quickly. He pulled away, leaving them both panting: her with pleasure and surprise, him with an inkling of concern. He prayed that his mother had been right!

Sydney's reaction was caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh of pleasure. 'Phew! That was _very_ nice.'

'Very nice?'

'It was amazing!' Regaining her composure, she raised her hand to his cheek and urged him back towards her. 'You know, Nigel. I _think_ you kiss like a God, but I might just have to check one more time…'

'It would be a pleasure to prove myself to you,' murmured Nigel, holding off just a moment. 'Although, kissing aside, I _still_ never wanted to be a demigod. All I ever wanted was to find a nice quiet library to study the great texts, maybe teach a little…'

Sydney scrunched her nose jokily. 'No, that sounds like life at the temple. Its nice for a bit, then it gets dull… now shut up and kiss me again!'

She thought she might drown in the smile he offered her – it was so modest yet suddenly so quietly confident - but then, to her disappointment, it evaporated. Instead, his eyes stretched wide with alarm.

Nigel jumped to his feet. 'Err, what's that?'

'Where?' demanded Sydney, swallowing her disappointment.

'There, over there!'

He pointed into a hazy patch of light. What had previously looked like a murky shadow, was now uncoiling into a long, thin shape.

'It's a snake!' growled Sydney. 'An asp, deadly poisonous. That's why they shut us here together! They wanted to dispose of us quickly and quietly, and make it look like a judgment from the gods.'

'An asp! Oh hell! What are we going to do?'

'Do you think you could strangle it with your bare hands?'

Nigel stared at her incredulously. 'Me? Why me?'

'You _are_ the demigod, Nigel! There's no denying it after _that_ kiss!'

'Yes, but I'm not Hercules!! This is ridiculous, of course I can't! Besides, I hate snakes. We've not even get deadly ones at home, but they've always terrified me!'

'They're not my favourite thing either,' breathed Sydney. 'Well, if you don't think you could strangle it, how about stamping on it?'

Nigel didn't look any more enthusiastic than before. The waiting animal, its tongue flitting in and out, began slithering across the floor towards them.

'This is what we'll do,' she said hastily. 'I'll try and distract it, but you need to jump on it from behind. Stamp on the neck or something.'

'I've got no boots on!' wailed Nigel. 'What if it bites me?'

'Would you rather I did the jumping?'

'Yes! Well, actually, no.' Nigel sighed. 'I suppose it _is_ the snake or us.'

He thought to himself: 'and I'd rather it was me who got bitten.' But he never said it.

Nigel sided into the corner behind the snake while Sydney began whistling and clicking her fingers, getting its attention. Its head shot into the air and a menacing hiss emanated from its long thin mouth. The tongue cracked in and out like a flickering flame.

'Ready?' she whispered.

'Uh, I think so,' replied Nigel uncertainly.

It was at that moment they heard the click of fingers. The snake froze as still as a marble statue.

Nigel blinked twice and stared in disbelief as Hera appeared in the middle of the cell, and favoured Sydney with a malicious sneer.

Sydney's fists clenched in anticipation: 'What do you want, you bitch?'

'I'm getting bored of this little game! So I'm calling it off.'

Hera kicked her fingers again. Nigel disappeared.

With little regard to the matter that her nemesis was a powerful goddess, Sydney launched herself at the woman with a roar. She grabbed the front of her long, silky gown and barely restrained herself from spitting in her face.

'What have you done with him? Where did he go? In Gaia's name, I'll…'

'He's mine now, Sydney. He's gone to serve in my palace, as my slave and lover. And there's no need to worry. I've made him fall desperately in love with me, so he'll be quite happy to face an eternity of servitude there.'

'You're not just a bitch,' breathed Sydney. 'You're a bad loser. Nigel was mine! I won't let you get away with this.'

'There's no way you can stop me!' retorted Hera blithely. 'Now Nigel is out of the way, I'll let you mortals work things through for yourself – which involves allowing that fool Kafka to inherit the power of the Tree of Life and wield it in my honour. It also entails _you_ dying now!'

With that, she snapped her fingers, and was gone.

END OF BOOK TWO

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for those reviews. Warning: adult themes, total insanity.**

Book 3: And Gods and Ashes will Fall.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Hera and Nigel were gone, but Sydney found she was still not alone when the silence was shattered by a portentous 'hiss'.

'The _bitch_,' muttered Sydney. Hera had left her to die by the poison of the asp.

The snake stilled a moment in its slithering. Its upper-body was protruding upright into the air and its beady eyes were fixed on Sydney, who was standing as motionless as she could.

'It's nothing personal,' she hissed back. 'But I'm going to kill you before you kill me. I'm just not sure how yet!'

Obviously, the guards had taken all her weapons but it occurred to her that her hair was held up by a long, ivory pin. Slowly, very slowly, she eased her hand up towards the ornament, and then pulled it out suddenly, letting her hair tumble around her shoulders. The snake spat furiously as it jutted forward. Sydney leapt aside, narrowly missing its venomous jaws.

Then it stood still again, eyeballing her. The next attack would come at any second. Sydney held the pin aloft, knowing she would only have one chance and would have to kill at the first blow.

Thus, she was on the verge of making her move when the door flew open. There, dressed in a particularly fashionable, thigh-length pink chiton and holding a large bunch of keys in her hand stood…

'Claudia!'

Sydney jostled her friend out of the cell in an instant, slamming the door shut behind her and trapping the snake within. Her eyebrows raised in astonishment at the sight of two bodyguards, apparently knocked out on the corridor floor. Nevertheless, even her curiosity at this was overwhelmed at her pleasure at seeing her much feared-for friend. She threw her arms around Claudia's neck.

'Sydney! Are you okay? I can't believe it's really you!'

'Me neither,' breathed Sydney. 'It's just so good to see you. I was so worried… that bastard didn't touch you, did he?'

Claudia looked up at Sydney, her blue eyes usually sober: 'No… nothing bad. But it's only thanks to Nigel. You've got to find him and get us out of here quickly!'

'Yes, we've got to go, but…Nigel isn't here.'

'Where _is_ he then? He's not dead, is he?'

'No,' said Sydney hastily. 'Look, I can't explain now, let's go.' She grabbed Claudia's hand, and started up the corridor. 'You know Claudia, I'm really proud of you for this. You're going to have to tell me how you did it…'

'Well, the most important thing for a good rescue,' began Claudia, 'is deciding exactly what to wear…'

'Hey, don't I get any of the credit?'

The all too familiar voice sounded from an apparently empty space.

'Stewie? What the…'

'I'm the one who sneak past a dozen guards, plonked valerian in their wine, and whacked the two outside here on the head! Blondie here just spent ages in front of the mirror, sneaked in at the last, and stole all the glory!'

'Well I'm grateful to both of you!' grinned Sydney. 'It's amazing how brave you can be, Stewie - with an INVISIBILITY CLOAK! Are you going to take it off?'

'Not till I'm at least a two-days journey from this city!'

Sydney rolled her eyes and squeezed Claudia's hand: 'Come on, let's go!'

'Got a plan, Sydney?

'Uh, yes. Get out of here, rescue Nigel, stop Kafka, save the world! Good enough?'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Nigel awoke his vision was filled by with the blankly beautiful face and heavily muscled torso of a large, blonde-haired man, who towered above where he lay.

A momentary grasp of panic faded into a confusing rush of consciousness. He _knew _that face. He didn't believe it was a threat to him. All the same, the name that accompanied it flitted somewhere just out of his reach, bobbing in an inaccessible current of incoherent memories that seemed to be flowing rapidly away from him. Nevertheless, he _knew_ that face, and he knew the man's name. Just like he knew his own name…

Alarm claimed him again when he suddenly realised he did not remember his own name either. He knew it, of course. But it just wasn't there!

Nigel sat bolt upright and opened his mouth to speak, but gaped around him instead when he saw where he was.

He was in a vast, airy hall, over fifty foot-lengths wide and more than three times as long. An impossibly high-pitched roof was held aloft by rows of tall, painted marble pillars, which lined all four sides. A bright light, as vibrant as sunrays, flooded over everything, although Nigel could see no windows.

The illuminated decor was breathtaking. Jewels, which sparkled every shade of the rainbow, were embedded around doors at either end of the chamber. In their millions, they lined the fluting of every gigantic column. The floor itself was covered with what appeared to be solid gold slabs, between which were also stuffed sapphires and rubies. Between the columns, were life-sized female figurines, also leafed in gold.

Nigel, for his part, found he was stretched out on what appeared to be some sort of plain, marble altar, albeit made a little more comfortable by thin, linen drapes and a single pillow, which had been placed beneath his head. Moreover, he suddenly realised why he was oddly shivery, despite the warmth of the air: he was unclothed, apart from a small white loincloth that concealed his modesty.

Stifling a cry of horror, he wrapped his arms around his torso and struggled to find words.

'Impressed?' asked Nigel's companion, sounding anything but.

'I…I… I don't know,' replied Nigel, who couldn't quite decided he was relieved or disturbed to register that the other man was wearing no more than he was. 'I don't remember… anything! Even my name! Err, what are you doing?'

Nigel shrank behind his arms as Plutus strode in circles around him, closely scrutinising his shoulders and back. 'What are you staring at?'

'My handiwork,' said Plutus. 'And yours, I suppose. Your skin is flawless. You heal very well, Nigel.'

'Nigel?' said Nigel, rolling the word around his mouth. It felt right, and somehow familiar. He was so intrigued by it that he didn't even resist when the newcomer gently pried away his arms from where he hugged them about himself, and peered in to examine him even closer.

'That's right, your name is Nigel,' said the big man, 'and mine is Plutus. But it doesn't really matter anymore. Hera tired of the 'game', as she called it, and summoned us both here to entertain her. I had nothing better to do, and you she just couldn't resist.'

'Hera? I do remember her! I know her!'

His mind was suddenly filled with the crystal clear image of a tall, raven-haired woman, with long limbs and eyes like glowing, black embers. He laughed, although he felt no mirth.

'My Goddess, my mistress, my love, my life!' he recited, looking up at Plutus as if pleading for approval: 'She is everything to me?'

In a swift, aggressive movement, Plutus stepped away and raised his powerful arm and clenched his fist. Nigel yelped and backed away, nearly falling to the floor. But the blow never hit home.

Instead, Plutus thumped his fist heavily upon the altar, the impact echoing tenfold around the room, and let out a frustrated growl. 'It's too late,' he spat. 'She's done the job too well!'

Nigel pursed lips nervously, then asked: 'Why don't I remember you, even though I know you? And, err, it's too late for what?'

'You'll know me much better through the monotonous eternities ahead! And it's too late for _you_, Nigel. There's only one who may ever be able to break the spell on you. She will die soon, and you won't even care.'

'Who'll die?' demanded Nigel, slipping down off the table, his own fists clenching as he squared up to the much larger man. 'Not Hera? Don't say that it? She can't! I'd kill myself to defend her. I'd kill _you _if that's what it took!'

Plutus arched a single, ironic eyebrow, then turned and strode away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was a moment of reverberating silence after Plutus left. Nigel gazed around the room, compulsively fighting the blankness that engulfed everything internal to him but the vision of Hera. The tall marble pillars, the bright gaudy colours, the statues, and the vast empty spaces – a voice inside him told him this was how his life had always been. Yet it felt overwhelmingly like a reoccurring dream about coming to one's home and finding it completely different, whilst all the time the sleeping mind insists: it _is _your home.

'It _is_ my home,' he found himself saying. 'And all I need for perfection is my mistress.'

His attention was suddenly caught by one of the golden statues. He shifted to face it, his lips a little parted in awe. The sculpture was quite perfect, her features even and expressionless and her curves full and voluptuous. She was very pleasing to look at, thought Nigel.

He took a sharp intake of breath when her eyelids opened and her lips moulded into a smile.

All the same, he was not as surprised as he felt he ought to be and resisted the urge to run from the room. The woman was now accompanied by a dozen other walking sculptures, which had hitherto been quite stationary between the columns. They began to close in upon him.

'Lie down,' she ordered, in a superficially soothing, low voice. Nigel obeyed, resting back flat on the altar and fixing his eyes upon the high ceiling.

He couldn't see the women any more, but he could sense them getting closer and closer. His ears strained to catch the barely discernible patter of their bare feet on the golden floor. He shivered, unsure if it was cold or fear and suddenly felt very aware of his near-nakedness. He was on the very verge of jumping up to try and escape again, when the statue said: 'Hera commands this.'

A wave of calmness swept over him. 'This is right,' he told himself.

One of the women picked up his hand, and began rubbing in some sort of sweet, honey-smelling smelling oil. Someone else began caressing the soft underside of his wrist with long, fluttery motions of feather-light fingers. A further gold-painted figure began oiling his chest, while another began to rub a smooth, cold lotion between his toes and on the soles of his feet. He couldn't suppress a giggle - it tickled a lot!

'Should I be enjoying this?' he wondered.

The women were beautiful, and their touch stimulated an unfamiliar feeling of effervescence. He laughed again, unable to contain some sort of shallow joy. But it hurt too, kindling a strange pang deep in his heart that no gold-painted spectre could comfort, and which he could not comprehend.

Heavy rings were pushed on each of his fingers, and a much more delicate, bejewelled chain was fastened around his neck. Now, somebody was touching his face. Nigel flinched and shut his eyes as a thumb with gold-painted nails descended towards them; he nearly lashed out as he felt something smeared on his eyes, lips and cheeks, but breathed hard and remained calm. It was what Hera wanted, he told himself.

Nevertheless, as the touch was withdrawn, he lifted his arm and smeared whatever it was across the back of his hand. He looked down to see his skin had been painted with a kind of golden glitter. For the first time, he felt a muted frustration. He sat up quickly, scattering the hands that were now all over him.

'This isn't what I am!' he told them, apologetic but forceful. 'I'm not some sort of ornament to sit here and be painted and adorned, or a pet to be touched at will…or…well, I don't know quite what I am, and I do want to please my mistress…. but I'm not this!'

The golden women looked at him curiously, but showed no sign of objection. He quickly removed the jewellery and jumped down from the altar, nearly slipping as his feet, freshly smeared with the lotion, met the slick, gold floor. Steadying himself, he added: 'I'm, err …I'm think I'm going to go now!'

He didn't get very far. Before he was two steps from the altar, he heard the deafening beat of a drum, which reverberated to the very pit of his stomach and rooted him to the spot with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

The noise came again. This time it was accompanied a single, chiming voice.

'YOU WILL STAY!'

Hera stood between two pillars at the far end of the hall, her dark hair piled on her head, resembling a huge, rounded beehive and making her stature even more tall and dreadful. She was swathed in a translucent robe of silver moonlight.

A fireball of desire exploded in Nigel. He ran to her, and threw himself down on his knees before her. All else was forgotten as tears of love and devotion filled his eyes and started rolling down his cheeks. He kissed both of her feet, and then repeated the act again and again and again.

He would have done this forever if she had not slipped a single, slender finger beneath his chin and lifted his face up so she could see him.

She was so radiant, beautiful and overwhelming that Nigel was terrified. His breath hitched in his throat, and his mouth went quite dry. He felt as if he was staring over an impossibly high precipice – yet that he desperately wanted to shatter his carcass upon the ragged rocks far beneath.

'You are mine now,' she said slowly, the words echoing from one end of the hall to the other.

Nigel nodded; she dug her long, scarlet fingernail into the bottom of his chin, demanding him to speak.

'I…I'm your willing slave?' he offered. 'And you're my queen, my mistress, my only love.' His voice sounded tiny compared to hers and the purport of his own words made him tremour with dread, despite his sincerity.

'Good,' she said after a moment. She urged him up so that his face rested on her middle and his arms wrapped about her waist. She stroked his hair, and the nape of his neck.

'From now on, you will serve me - and me alone. Pleasing me, even if it gives you pain, will be the only thing that affords you happiness. Do you understand?'

'Yes, my queen.' Nigel's voice was muffled in her gown.

She pushed back his forehead with the palm of her hand and peered down into his face, and then at his shoulders and chest, absorbing the sight of his creamy, flawless skin with pleasure. 'Plutus does his job well', she thought. She returned her focus to his face, which was staring earnestly up into hers:

'What colour are your eyes today, my precious one?'

'Whatever colour pleases you?'

She threw her chin up theatrically as she laughed: 'Right answer!' Frowning slightly, however, she ran a fingertip over his cheeks and eyelids. 'But I see you refused to be painted for me? What was the meaning of that?'

Nigel winced at the complexity of the question; he _ought_ to want to be painted, if that's what _she _wanted, but he didn't. He hated the idea. He stared straight onto her femininely rounded, silk-covered stomach and said nothing.

Hera slapped him sharply on the cheek, grasping his hair tight so he couldn't recoil. 'Answer me!'

'I, uh, I thought it might not please you?' Was he lying? He didn't know.

'Clever answer,' she hissed, floating an icy finger down his hotly smarting, flushed cheek. 'Too clever. I'll enjoy finding what it takes to rid you of that cleverness. What do you think of that?'

'I think well of anything that pleases you,' he muttered. This time, it was a truthful answer, but his voice was tinged with an innate sulkiness.

Hera smiled coldly. 'I will make you mine forever, Nigel. You cannot fight me for long!'

'I don't want to,' he whispered. 'I don't like to fight, especially with you. I just want to love you.'

Deep inside, nevertheless, he already knew this was the biggest lie of all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'It can't be done, Sydney!' shouted Stewie, straining his voice to be heard over the clang of voices, lutes and blaring pipes in the most crowded and plebeian Taverna in downtown Neapolis. Run by one of the women whose children Sydney had saved from the Harpies, it was the one of the few places they could feel even a little bit safe.

'It does seem tricky,' conceded Claudia. 'But Nigel did save me, so you've got to try and rescue him from that scary woman.'

'We will get him back,' stated Sydney. 'But we've got to find a way to Hera's Palace - quickly! Kafka and his troops could be in the tonight, and tomorrow he could have taken the branch to Camae and then who knows what will happen! We need to get to the palace and back, _and_ get to the sacred caves before him.'

Stewie pulled an unenthusiastic face: 'We don't even know Nigel wants to be rescued! He and Hera might make a sweet couple - who are we to argue with that? Besides, we don't even know where Hera's 'Palace o' Love' is! Chances are that it's near Olympus. That means we've got at least a five-day trek to Sybaris, and then we take an ocean voyage!'

'I know. I'm working on it…'

'Really? It's just not possible to get there and back in one night. I say we cut our losses and get out of here before all Hades breaks loose. Apparently, there's good plundered to be found in Megara Hyblaea at the moment, since the Syracusians sacked the city. The three of us should head over, we could make a killing…'

Sydney was now ignoring this speech as she tried to formulate a plan: ' It's got to be possible,' she told Claudia. 'We just need some sort of transport.'

'A boat?' suggested her friend helpfully.

'Too slow. If we're going to beat Hera, we need to stop thinking like mortals. If we were gods, there would be a way. What would we do if we had the powers of an immortal?'

'You're losing it! Stewie took a large slurp of his wine out of a sizeable pottery beaker decorated with the outline shapes of comely dancing wenches, and let his gaze drift off across the bar.

'Now there's a nice line-up of chickies,' he chortled, catching sight of some scantily clad blonde triplets, two of which were draped over a pair of rugged yet familiar looking men, one of whom sported a wide-rimmed leather hat. 'Oh…hey, Syd, isn't that those idiots Reinud and Dallasusus?'

He took another large swig of wine, and then spluttered it out, narrowly missing Sydney and causing Claudia to wrinkle her nose in disgust.

'Those two were…were…were…err, Sydney? Weren't those two dead?'

'It appears not,' shrugged Sydney, rising from her chair, puzzled and curious but mainly pleased. 'And right now I'm mighty interested to know what they're doing in a bar in Neapolis with what looks like _three_ very intoxicated nymphs!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dead?' queried Dallasus. 'Nah, not us. Must've been somebody else. We went straight up that tunnel and found these little beauties just waiting to show us a good time!'

'I'm sure they were,' smiled Sydney sardonically.

'And we showed them one,' leered Reinud. 'Didn't we girls?'

'Oh yes,' giggled Arry who was currently draped around the Germanic relic hunter like a vine clinging to a particularly twisted apple tree. 'We made love all night, and most of the next day too…'

'… and the day after that!' chirped Erry. 'It was fabulous!' Dallasus grinned, flashing a set of impossibly pearly white teeth. Reinud, meanwhile, leered over Erry's protruding assets in a way that made Sydney feel slightly ill.

Christie, who stood a little apart from the others, folded her arms indignantly and didn't look very pleased about anything. But her grunts were not audible above the clamour of the taverna, and she said nothing.

'Hold on,' jutted in Sydney. 'If you were, uh, making love all that time by the Tree of Life, how did you get here so quickly? Its at least two days trek away.'

'Oh that was easy,' replied Erry guilelessly. 'We flew over here on Tidlius!'

'Uh, and Tidlius is…?'

'He's our pet dragon.'

Sydney swallowed her nausea, and smiled ingratiatingly. Maybe she wasn't quite thinking like Goddess yet, but she was sure she could win over a trio of oversexed nymphs!

'You know, I'm really happy for you,' she gushed. 'And I can see we're all going to be great friends…now I _really_ need to borrow your pet dragon!'

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimers: as before 

**Thanks for those reviews. **

**WARNINGS: Very dark, adult themes. Violence.**

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

'No way!' yelped Christie, her shrill voice carrying above the rowdiness of the bar. 'I don't care what that sexually repressed runt has gone and got himself into with Hera. You're not borrowing my dragon!'

Christie glowered contemptuously at Sydney, who returned the favour with interest.

'Tidlius isn't just your dragon, he's _our_ dragon,' pointed out Arry sweetly. 'Besides, I like Nigel. He's adorable!'

'Not as adorable as me, I hope,' winked Dallasus.

'Oh, much, much more,' replied Arry. 'He just didn't seem to want to join the orgy. Maybe one day,' she concluded dreamily. The rim of Dallasus's hat appeared to droop in tandem with the edges of his mouth.

'I vote we help Nigel,' offered Erry. 'He was a sweet boy and, well, Hera's been in a really foul mood with us since we had to bar her from the Tree of Life.'

'Why did you have to do that?' asked Sydney.

Erry sighed languidly. 'It's a long, long story. The privilege of taking the fruit from the Tree was originally entrusted to Hera at the time of her marriage to Zeus, as a present from Gaia.'

'I wish that damn Earth Goddess would just _tell _me these things rather than all that cryptic prophecy rubbish,' muttered Sydney. 'It certainly would make things easier! Uh, do go on.'

'Only last winter, that trust was taken away in order for the Branch to pass to the Messenger, and be taken forth into the world of mortals. Gaia sent Plutus to help us guard the tree from her, and any other challengers. He left just after Nigel did. I'm guessing that, once the branch was gone, there was nothing left to guard.'

'We liked Plutus,' chipped in Arry, 'though I think we kind of bored him.'

'So who are the apples entrusted to now?' asked Sydney.

'There are _no_ apples there now,' lamented Erry. 'Once again, they've disappeared since Nigel took the branch. All the trees and plants on the hillside started to wither and die and the gold evaporated with the last rays of yesterday's son.'

'Which meant there was nothing left for us to pick,' grumbled Reinud.

'Apart from these babies, of course,' said Dallasus, who had decided to forgive Arry her misdemeanour as she slipped onto his knee. 'So that's when we decided to hit the town.'

'As I said, I'm so happy for you,' gushed Sydney though gritted teeth, as she ran through everything in her mind. The situation was worse than she had even feared - she'd just assumed that Hera just fancied Nigel and was carrying on their long-running grudge match. Now she realised Hera had a reason to hate Nigel as well, a swift rescue was even more imperative.

'I'm going to the palace and getting back Nigel tonight,' she stated resolutely. 'Two out of three triplets say I can take the dragon, so that's settled.'

Christie folded her arms and stomped off across the taverna.

'Oh, ignore her,' breezed Arry. 'She's always been the stroppy one. Yet she thinks its no problem to just take Tidlius and go flying about without telling us.'

'Yeah,' agreed Erry with a bitchy curl of her lip. 'Only the other night she was off with him who knows where, without even breathing a word beforehand! Even Tidlius has been grumpy with her ever since! I swear, when she climbed on him earlier he nearly bucked her right off! I don't know what she did to upset him like that!'

'I'll try and keep on his right side,' assured Sydney. 'So do we have a deal?'

The lips of the two nicer triplets curved into matching smiles of agreement. 'You can take the dragon…' began Erry.

'… but only on three conditions,' concluded her sister.

'Which are?'

'Firstly, you keep him in one piece. Nobody hurts our dragon!'

'Granted,' shrugged Sydney. 'I need him to bring me and Nigel me back in one piece too.'

'And secondly,' piped up Erry. 'You take us with you!'

'Uh, I'm not sure that's such a good idea.'

'Yet it is! Do you even know where Hera's palace is?'

'Err, not yet, but I'm working on it. Do you?'

'Might do,' purred Arry. 'So we're coming, right?'

'Right,' cringed Sydney, still uncertain. 'If you really know the quickest route, I suppose it would be helpful.'

'And, thirdly, the boys are coming too,' grinned Erry, kissing Dallasus on the cheek.

He shot back his cheesiest grin.

'What?! No way!' protested Sydney.

For once, however, it was an argument that she lost!

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hera's gaze travelled languidly up Nigel's sleeping form. He was lying on his front, his face turned slightly towards her, his creamy skin unclad apart from the bed linen over his thighs and waist. His handsome features were partially concealed behind a lock of his chestnut hair. She swept it back for a better view, her fingertips lingering to toy with the soft, shining strands.

'You're exhausted, aren't you, my poor little slave?'

Nigel didn't stir but Hera still smiled, satisfied. He had, in the course of the evening, very much delighted her, obeying her every whim without question. He had kissed her feet, her lips and her hands; he had wrestled, somewhat unsuccessfully, with Plutus for her amusement; and he had bathed her in ass's milk before rubbing her dry with an endearingly studious industry. Then he had rested obediently in her lap as she variously cosseted him and scolded him, and fed him honeyed wine and juicy grapes, which he seemed to like a lot.

Even more pleasingly, he was, without doubt, the most beautiful lover that she had ever taken - and she taken many. What a joke it was, she mused, that he had always been so oblivious to his elevated virtues, even during his days down amongst much lesser mortals.

'But those days are over now', she thought to herself. 'And he is still absolutely powerless compared to me! The mortals will never hold sway. '

She was still caressing his brow when Nigel stirred. He semiconsciously swatted her hand away and rolled onto his back. Then her enjoyment turned to anger as a single word escaped from his lips: 'Sydney…'

'_Sydney?_'

Hera applied a sharp wallop to his face with the back of her hand, imparting a sudden and unpleasant awakening.

'Sydney? What you mean by mentioning that name?'

Nigel, bleary and bewildered, tried to raise a hand to his smarting cheek, but Hera grabbed it, pinning his wrist above his head. Her other hand grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. 'Tell me what you mean?'

'I…uh… I really don't know what I mean, my Goddess!' This was the truth, but only because Nigel's dreams had quickly fled his fevered waking mind. 'I was asleep, I suppose… I don't remember what I was thinking of. I'm sorry, mistress.'

Hera thinned her eyes, reducing them to vicious slits: 'who do you love, Nigel?'

'You!' he cried, struggling to convey his sincerity amidst a growing, unheeded resentment. 'Only you! I live only to serve and please you, and…and…'

'And what?'

She tightened her grip on his chin, yet he still averted his focus before he answered: '… and to love you? If that pleases you, too.'

'Hmmmmmm!' Hera released his jaw, but not his wrist, and instead took hold of his other arm, pushing it above his head with the other. He didn't resist. On the contrary, Hera watched with approval as he admired her cleavage and breathed in the sweet scent of her hair with an aura of reverence and modesty.

'Do you want to make love to me, Nigel?' she husked, her leg dashing away the thin sheet between them.

Nigel gasped at the intimacy: 'If you, um, err…if you wish me to?'

Hera adored the way he bit his bottom lip nervously. She released one of his wrists, but only to slap him again, this time harder than before.

'Ow! I'm sorry! What did I do?'

She said nothing. His glazed shock quickly melted into genuine distress.

'I'm… I'm sorry! Please tell me what I did. I'll try harder! I'll be good…' Nothing could have concealed the note of innate sulkiness in his final words - even Nigel himself, try as he did.

'It was a good answer,' she said slowly, kindly almost, capturing his wrist again. 'But, once again, it's not the answer, I want. So try again. Do you want to make love to me, Nigel?'

Nigel's face was almost devoid of any expression, but his inner being was sinking ever deeper into an exquisite agony of dissension. He loved this woman; she saturated his every waking thought, just as she was physically dominating him now. His body was overtaken with a wildfire of yearning for her – yet he could not drown out that dissonant note of repulsion at her very essence, which tolled like a death knell in his soul.

He couldn't think straight and he couldn't move; he could barely breath: 'I…I…'

'Answer me, or I'll have Plutus thrash you to within an inch of your life in front of my whole court!'

At this notion, Nigel was horrified. As unsure as he felt about himself right now, he knew the humiliation alone would be unbearable, while the thought that he had angered her so much made him cringe with regret. Nevertheless, the sought after declaration of his longing was withheld by sentiments far beyond his control, even stronger than this all-consuming love.

'So be it,' she said slowly, reading his agony. 'I see you already suffer for your wrongful resistance. But I'm afraid it is just not enough...'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'So do we get to come and rescue Nigel too?' chirped Claudia.

Sydney grimaced apologetically: 'Sorry. I've got another job for you.' She threw meaningful stare at Stewie who was still grinning and drooling in the direction of the two remaining triplets: '_Both _of you!'

Stewie gave a surprised, drunken hiccip.

'Oh this is just not fair!' moaned Claudia. 'You get to go and fetch Nigel from Hera's 'Palace of love', those nymph-girls get to mess about with those two hunky relic hunters and go flying on a dragon …and _I _have to go do something no doubt horrid and dangerous with Bacchus's uglier twin brother!'

'I'm really sorry, but the Herperides insisted on coming and bringing Dallasus and Reinud.'

'Those brainless strumpets don't even dress well!' snapped Claudia bitchily. 'Off-the-shoulder chiton's are so last Skirophorion! Besides, I want to come too. Last time you left me, I got kidnapped and it was horrible.'

'Again, I'm sorry,' sighed Sydney. 'I hoped you'd be safe at the temple. Did Kafka really send men to abduct you from there?'

'Uh… sort of.'

Claudia stopped pouting to chew her bottom lip as she remembered poor Georgus, and the devastating sight of his blood flowing between the cobbles, struck down as he tried to save her. Would Sydney hate her when she knew? She certainly didn't relish telling the truth about how she'd left the temple to meet the 'divine goatherd': even rescuing her friend from the prison might not have put her in quite a good enough temper!

'Is there something you're not telling me?' asked Sydney, reading the glimmer of guilt on Claudia's petite features.

She jumped: 'No! Uh…no, not at all. So, what do you want us to do?'

'Kafka and his men aren't far behind us. If he's got the branch, he wants to get it to Camae… and I've got a hunch he'll re-enter the city tonight. Now chances are, he's already learnt or got a copy of the Hexameter so stealing it won't stop him. However, I need to know the second half of the Sybil of Tibertine's prophecy.'

'You're not suggesting…? No way!' spluttered Stewie. 'You want the hexameter - you get it. Then I'll do the translating!'

'I _really_ don't want to go near that man again,' said Claudia, uncharacteristically gravely.

'Look, I know this is a big thing to ask, but you _have _got an invisibility cloak between you. You don't have to actually take the hexameter, but Stewie needs to at least have a look at it for me and see if he can work out what the Sybil of Tibertine wrote. And Claudia – I'm trusting it to you to make sure he actually does it! I wouldn't ask it of either of you if it wasn't absolutely necessary, but it is.'

Claudia wrangled with her conscience for a moment, before it won out: 'I'll do it, as long as I get to wear that invisibility cloak this time. I definitely don't want to be seen!'

'That's the first time I've ever heard you say that!' laughed Sydney. 'How about you, Stewie?'

'Aw…if I must,' he groaned. 'I'm in too. I've got to be braver than some little blonde, right?'

'Don't be too sure of that,' laughed Sydney. 'But thanks, both of you. I know you'll come up with a good plan.'

'You mean you haven't got one for us?'

'Uh, no. But don't worry, I'm sure yours will be great.'

As they both stared at her in shock, she gave Claudia a little hug and even deigned to squeeze Stewie's arm.

'See you both back here in the morning!'

With that, she left the Taverna, praying to Gaia that she'd made the right decision!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hera's gold-painted serving nymphs doused Nigel in Eucalyptus oils then dressed him in a short, white chiton, pinning it up with elaborate emerald clasps at the shoulders. They sparkled alluring, and Hera thought they exactly matched his eyes. Indeed, as her people worked, Hera never lifted her avid attention from him for an instant.

Nigel returned the gesture, staring back at her with a placid yet uneasy awe. But he squirmed increasingly under the ubiquitous hands, and found himself beginning to think everything shiny in the palace was really very dull. Soon, cold sweat mingled with the scented oils and trickled down the back of his neck.

'Why does loving you hurt so much?' he asked in a whisper, once the servants were gone. 'It's all I want to do, so why does it hurt?'

'Because you are fighting me, Nigel.'

'No. It's impossible!' he fell to his knees and kissed her feet again. 'I love you?'

'We'll see,' was all she said. She took his hand and pulled him to his feet. 'Come.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hera led him through a series of grand, colonnaded corridors with marble floors that chilled the soles of his bare feet.

At length, they reached end of a particularly long hallway and an iron-clad door. Nigel had never seen anything like it. It was smaller in scale and less embellished than the others, but still impressive and framed with colossal slabs of reddish stone.

Hera snapped her fingers; a lock clicked and the portal swung open with an agonised wail. She indicated with a sweep of her hand that he should enter before her.

A growing sense of foreboding rooted Nigel to the spot. To Hera, his silence reeked of a muted defiance.

'If you really loved me, you would obey me without question,' she hissed. He nodded, and then stepped through the door.

It was cold and dingy on the other side, and a staircase cascaded steeply downwards. Nigel hesitated again, but a sharp prod on his shoulder compelled him to descend, steadying himself with a hand on the wall. These were hewn out of rough, un-worked rock - more like those of a cave than a building - and made his fingers slimy with damp and moss.

The staircase wound down for what seemed like ages; Nigel imagined they must soon reach the middle of the Earth. It was increasingly dark apart from a strange, greenish light that glimmered across each step as his feet passed over it. This alone, was enough to unsettle him even more.

Nigel's apprehension grew until at length they landed on a plateau of sodden clay and rock, at the end of which was a single door.

Standing in front of it, however, was the most hideous creature he had ever seen. More colossal and sturdily built than Plutus, it had the body of a man, and was clad in a formidable tunic of tiled, black metal. Its head, however, was that of a stout, white bull, with a bronze ring rammed through its wrinkled nose. From it's behind, coiled a pointed, serpent-like tail.

The glacial hand that clamped down over his mouth stifled Nigel's cry.

'This is Stygian, my prison guard,' rasped Hera, the harsh currents of her breath biting through the chill of the air. 'It would not be in your interest to anger him, Nigel. He will hate you, as it is – imagine how hard it must be for one so hideous to look upon one so beautiful as you! And he, too, was beautiful once – before he displeased me.' She nodded coldly at the monster. 'Open the door!'

Stygian obeyed with lumbering and torturously slow movements, and then stepped aside. Hera guided Nigel through the door with a single hand on his shoulder. He was mildly relieved when Stygian did no follow.

Nevertheless, a new sensation of horror swept over him when he saw a fragile figure standing rigidly in the corner, with deathly pale skin, tumbling, white hair and a long, ragged robe. He knew her instantly, although his memory was still a mess. He reached tentatively towards her.

'Are you…are you my mother?'

She mouthed a soundless 'yes'.

Nigel gave a little cry and went to throw his arms around her, but Hera grabbed his arm and cracked him back.

'Ow!'

'You want to please me, Nigel?' she demanded.

'Anything!' He did not take his eyes of his mother.

'Then you will kill her for me.'

Nigel felt his breath and remaining strength draining from him: 'Kill her? I can't! She's my mother! She told me so!'

'Have you any real memory of her at all?'

Nigel squeezed the bridge of his nose, urging his mind to evoke anything at all of his life outside the palace. His head began to ache, but he could conjure up no past recollection of this woman, and little sentiment beyond his knowledge that it was terrible for her to be locked away in this dark place with that gruesome guard.

'You should not remember her Nigel,' said Hera, her tones now hushed. 'You will never be mine until you have destroyed her. Do you understand?'

She spun him around to face her and pulled a sheath-less dagger, with an elaborate diamond-encrusted handle from within her cloak. Delicately slipping the polished blade of the knife between her fingers, she offered the handle to him. 'Do it now!'

'I… I don't want to!'

'Think only for your love for me and do it NOW!'

Trembling hard, Nigel took the blade and turned back towards his mother. Hera was right; he could not remember her. How did he know that this spectre - and, truly, she looked like a wraith of Hades - was not lying to him?

He held the knife out in front of him and pointed the blade straight at her heart.

She smiled, but the expression was glazed and distant, as if he were viewing her through a dense mist.

'I can do this,' he told himself. Squeezing his eyes shut, he braced himself for the deed.

But when he opened them again, it was not her he saw. It was another woman: tall, dark and not unlike Hera in overall appearance, but with softer features, olive skin and full, cherry lips. She knew her too, but it was not his mother. But who was she? All he knew was that to kill her would be far worse than suicide.

Nigel gave a moan of anguish, turned and cast the dagger down onto the floor with some force. A sensation of inexplicable release gushed through him as the handle shattered into a thousand pieces, sending shards of emerald and rubies shooting across the floor.

'I won't do it! Killing her is no way to prove my love to you.'

Nigel could now barely hear his voice above the searing pain that ripped through his whole being. He doubled up, writhing in agony. Hera's expression was glacial as she pointed at the blade of the shattered knife.

'Pick it up!'

Nigel struggled to straighten himself and to look her in the eye. 'But…it will cut me…'

'PICK IT UP!'

'If it pleases you,' muttered Nigel. With an arduous effort, he carefully lifted the blade without any injury to himself. He held it out to her, his hands shaking.

She snatched it from him and, in a single fluid movement, she hacked it straight across the woman's throat. Blood spurted and the woman crumpled. Nigel screamed. He still did not see his mother, he saw the _other_ woman: the olive skinned beauty. And she was already dead.

His fomenting hatred exploded with a rush. Nigel lunged wildly at Hera, swinging his fist straight for her jaw. She raised the blade to defend herself, and it bit deep into the flesh of his arm, cutting to the bone.

Spheres of darkness, even blacker than the gloom around him, loomed in front of Nigel's eyes as he slumped to the floor. The pain was like a flood now, and ripped through him as fast as the blood appeared to be seeping from his injured limb. He couldn't even find the strength to cradle his wrist, which lay limply in front of him.

'And now I'm dying,' he thought vacantly. But his confusion grew as he turned to focus on the hazy, dark room and saw no sign of a body.

'Where is she?' he asked, forcing his voice out only with some effort. 'What did you do with her?'

Large meaty hands, with long fingernails like talons, forced their way under his arms and lifted him up. Nigel found himself pressed against an armour-clad frame much larger than his own. With horror, his fading mind recalled Stygian.

Realising he was now in the clutches of this monster was more than enough to finish Nigel off. His head lolled forward as his consciousness dimmed further, but was forced back again with a jerk as somebody grabbed his hair. Hera's scarlet lips and jet-black eyes loomed up in front of him.

'You killed her,' he mumbled. 'Where is she gone?'

'Your mother was never there, you little fool!' she spat. 'It was just a test! My, you're as gullible as you are pretty. It's just a shame that you failed quite so miserably.'

'Actually,' murmured Nigel, 'I think I passed. In fact, I think I hate you, you…you…bitch!'

His defiance was cut short by a surge of pain at Stygian jolted his otherwise numbing arm. Sensing the momentum of his suffering, Hera plunged her mouth over his and forced her tongue deep inside, while Stygian crushed him so hard that the air rushed from his lungs.

When she finally broke way, Nigel was left taking ragged gasps, uncontrollable tears rolling down his face. 'I hate you,' he whimpered. 'I hate you…'

'Send Plutus down here to patch him up,' growled Hera to Stygian, noting the blood dripping into a small pool beneath Nigel's dangling arm. Then she swatted his cheek, making sure he was still conscious. 'Let's see how many times my vultures can tear out your guts before you decide you'd rather love than hate me, my beautiful one!'

'I'll still...hate you…' whispered Nigel before he finally fainted.

She turned away quickly, almost as grateful as Nigel was for the release. Just a little longer, and she was sure even he would have smelt her fear.

Now she sure of it: her powers were dwindling. Kafka _must_ wield the branch, she realised. Otherwise, everything was lost.

'I will go to him now,' she told herself. 'He must not fail.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christie was alone in the emptying taverna, keeping all potential suitors at bay with her malicious glares, when a woman in a grey-hooded cloak approached.

'What do you want?' snapped Christie, surly as ever.

The newcomer pulled down her hood, revealing that she was also beautiful, with sandy-blonde hair. Nevertheless, her radiance was marred with a barely healed scar beside her left eye, and her arm was heavily bandaged. She forced a smile.

'My name is Cate, and I believe you and I can be friends. So let me be straight with you: if you could tell me everything you know about Nigel, the Tree of Life, and where those people you were with are going, it will be very much to your advantage.'

'Oh yes?' queried Christie with a sneering smile. 'I'll be the judge of whether we'll become friends. But, if you really _can_ offer me something, there might be more in it for you, than you can even imagine…'

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimers: as before**

**Thanks for those reviews. Aryea - uh, yes, I see what you mean and no, he hadn't...but I think you might have picked up on a result of my having cut the previous sequence from this version of the story (which would have explained more about how they got in that situation and might see the light on the website one day!)**

**Warnings:**** violence, very dark themes, ridiculously-out-of-place tinges of Gothic horror! The most gruesome ideas are from Greek myth, honest. But, seriously, nothing too explicit please take note of warnings.**

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Plutus was kneeling over Nigel, bandaging his arm with cool, clean fabric when his patient began to revive.

Nigel blinked up at Plutus, whose straight, magisterial features were illuminated from below by a single, flickering oil-lamp. His first thoughts were of how noble and kind the man appeared, and he momentarily felt safe and comfortable. As he absorbed more of his whereabouts, however, Nigel found that he was clueless as to why he was lying on a blanket in a freezing and dank-smelling stone cell. Neither could he explain the sharp throbbing in his arm.

'Where am I?' he croaked. 'And where is my mistress, my Goddess?'

Plutus's dull snort conveyed extreme disappointment. Nigel felt the big man's otherwise tender touch grow temporarily rigid before he answered.

'A little earlier, you refused to obey your 'beloved' mistress's orders. Then you told her you hated her. I believe that if you were just a little bit less well mannered you would have probably spat in her face. Then I would have been _really _proud of you.'

'What?' Nigel propped himself up on his good arm, wincing at the head-rush. 'How could I do that? Had I gone mad?'

'No. You found your sanity, albeit briefly. It was the perfectly natural reaction of anybody who'd been asked to kill their mother and then nigh-fatally wounded merely to satisfy the whim of a Goddess. You fought her harder than most mortal men would find possible. Unfortunately, it seems that it will take more than that to break the spell - but you must keep trying.'

Nigel glared at him. 'There's no spell! I love her! Surely you must love her too?'

Plutus yawned as he finished the bandaging, letting Nigel pull away. 'No, neither of us love her one little bit. I am here because Hera demanded it - and I've little better to do. You're here because she's stolen your wits and, because of that, I'm afraid you're never going to listen to me.'

'I'm listening now. But you can't stop me loving her!'

Plutus reached out his sizable palm and ruffled Nigel's hair, causing him to duck away and grow even more confused. Then the big man mustered a sympathetic smile. It was the first time that Nigel had seen him display any real emotion since he had nearly struck him on the stone altar. Confusion turned to surprise when Plutus' marble brow creased into something that resembled grief.

Nigel gasped as Plutus seized his hand and begun wringing it gently: 'The next year is going to be very hard for you, lad. Do your best hate her! Loving her won't help; it'll just make you weaker. Try and find that hate inside of you, it _might_ break the spell.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I doubt there's any hope,' continued Plutus, his emotion building to the point that Nigel wondered if he was going to burst into tears. 'But maybe this _isn't _the end.'

Nigel's surprise had now spiralled into dread. He found he was both unable and slightly unwilling to pull his hand away from the other man's protective grasp.

'What is going to happen to me?' he asked again. Plutus swallowed hard and shook his head silently.

'You've got to tell me! Is it so awful that I can't even hear it?'

Nigel's heart lurched as the door creaked open and in hulked the bull-headed Stygian, twice as large and trenchant than Nigel even remembered. Green-tinged steam flared from the beast's nostrils, slicing through the frigid air.

'It is time,' it grunted.

Plutus dropped Nigel's hand and jumped to his feet, squaring his bulky shoulders: 'I'm not finished. You can come back later.'

'I think you are!' grunted Stygian. Brushing Plutus aside, he grabbed Nigel by the back of his chiton and hauled him upright.

Still weakened by the blood loss, Nigel's consciousness reeled dizzily now he was forced to use his feet. He didn't believe he had the energy to even struggle - until he caught sight of one of the beast's hands. Ghastly, curved talons protruding from down-covered stumps crept over the thin, blood-stained fabric which covered Nigel's lower abdomen - then slashed through it to reveal the creamy flesh beneath.

Repulsed and terrified as he was by the act itself, Nigel found the awful hands eerily reminiscent: the image of a huge metal hook lashed out of the quagmire of his memories.

'Please...don't touch me...'

Stygian chortled darkly: 'You should save that plea for your real tormentors – although they will listen even less than I! What a shame that such beautiful flesh will be so desecrated.'

Panic alone animated him. Fighting his own limpness, Nigel thrust away the claws and kicked back at the monster's shins. Overpowered again, he attempted to dig his heels into the sodden, clay floor to stop himself being lifted. Nevertheless, Stygian soon had both of his arms pinned behind his back, regardless of his injury, and was jostling him out of the cell and across the dank cave-like plateau towards the staircase.

'Plutus! Help me! Where is he taking me?'

There was no answer. Darting a look back, Nigel saw Plutus was trembling with rage, his fists clenched at his side.

'Help me! Please! There must be something you can do?'

'I cannot fight Hera,' he said, his deep voice now guttural with anger. 'I'm sorry, my friend. There's only one who can.'

Nigel's breath felt like iron in his lungs. 'But… why does she want to do something terrible to me…I love her…don't I? Please… what's happening to me?'

'You'll learn soon enough,' grunted Stygian, and effortlessly flung Nigel over one shoulder and started the long climb.

Nigel pounded his feet against the chest of the monster, but to no avail. Its torso was completely clad in an impenetrable metal. A single, razor-nailed hand wrapped around both his wrists, crushing them together.

'Plutus! Help Me!' hollered Nigel, fighting now only to contain sobs of sheer terror.

But Plutus just stood there, simmering with impotent anger.

Once Nigel's cries had faded into the distance he turned slowly back. With a yell of fury, he smashed his fist against the cell wall, so hard that the limestone cracked. The whole cave shook as the blow reverberated through to the foundations of the palace far, far above.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Claudia, this is a waste of time. If Kafka isn't here, we can't find the hexameter and we might as well go back to the taverna, right?'

'No! Ow, Stewie you're way too close. And can you please move your elbow? It's sticking into my ribs!'

Claudia stuck her head out from under the invisibility cloak and took a large gulp of air. She and Stewie had waited near the gates of the city – albeit in a taverna - for most of the night, and Kafka and his soldiers still hadn't returned. However, rumours that Kafka had been barred from the city had compelled the two reluctant heroes to head up onto the town walls and find out what was happening.

'Aaaaaah, air at last! You stink, Stewie. It's disgusting.'

'I do not! Many women have said I have a very stimulating aura! Quite a few have found it irresistible.'

'Err, I don't think so. The only girl who'd ever find you irresistible would be a blind and thirsty one who mistook you for a barrel of wine! Ugh! I mean, how many jug-loads did you drink?'

'Uh, only a small…dozen. But it was all good stuff!'

'No wonder you smell like a brew house…oh…oh yuck! Here I come again!'

Claudia took another mouthful of air and ducked back under the cloak.

'What is it?'

'It looks like one of the citizen guards. Should I ask him what's happening?'

'If you want to do that, you'd better get out from under the cloak.'

'Oh, alright.'

'In fact,' said Stewie, throwing off the cloak. 'Seeing as Kafka isn't actually here, why on earth are we hiding at all?'

'Uh, not sure…oh, look over there. What's that?'

Now standing high on the battlements, Claudia spotted in an array of flaming lights encircling the city, accompanied by dark, moving shapes.

'That's the new enemy of Neapolis, Miss,' said the guard, somewhat surprised by Claudia's sudden appearance but certainly not displeased by it. 'Frankus Kafka and his army.'

Claudia squeaked and ducked down beneath the precipice. 'So he is here then! But I thought the senate declared him governor of the province?'

'Ah, that was five days ago,' said the guard. 'Before the Gods sent a sign, and the Senate changed their mind.'

'Changed their mind? What do you mean?' Claudia fluttered her eyelashes with an air of coy innocence. The guard was tall, dark and not bad looking – and besides, she needed information fast and there was always one surefire way of getting what she wanted.

The guard, of course, couldn't resist regurgitating all he knew. 'Basically, he's been the city's enemy since the Messenger of the Winter Goddess and the Sybil of Camae disappeared into thin air! Their rescue could only have been an act of the Gods - and a sign that the Senate's judgment against them – passed to please Kafka – was wrong. Well, that's sort of the reason. The other reason is that the city is ruled by the Senate, but the Senators are ruled by their wives…'

'… and the women of the city still owe a debt to Sydney,' finished Claudia slowly. 'That's good, I suppose. But hasn't it made Kafka mad?'

'You could say that,' replied the Guard. 'This is why you need to get to somewhere safe now, Miss. A war could start at any time – he could even lay siege to the city. Mind you, rumour has it that the man himself has headed straight to his ship, and will set sail for Camae on the morning tide.'

'Camae!' squeaked Claudia. She grabbed Stewie, who had been lurking in the background with half an idea of skulking off. 'We've got to go find the 'thing' before he leaves. Come on, let's go!'

'Do we have to?' he protested.

Claudia thinned her eyes menacingly: 'Do you want to be on the wrong side of Sydney forever more? You know how she holds a grudge! And even _that's_ nothing compared to how _I _hold a grudge!'

'Fair enough. Let's go!'

As they turned, however, the guard gave a polite cough. 'Uh, miss. Do I know you? I mean, I'd like to…uh, oh, never mind.'

Claudia considered a moment, pursing her lips, before answering.

'Yes, maybe you do,' she purred slowly. 'But we can make sure of it at the taverna below this bit of wall, at dusk the day after tomorrow!' She gave a cute little wave, and tripped off after a still angrily-muttering Stewie.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The dragon soared high towards the moon and stars, which flickered across the night-sky, dazzling Sydney and the others.

'This is amazing,' breathed Sydney. 'And you are sure the dragon knows where it's going?'

'Oh yes,' said Arry. 'Tidlius has a good memory and can sniff out a God from the other side of the world. He'll get us there.'

'We've left the ocean far behind,' added Erry, 'and we're passing near Olympus. Hera's latest palace is around here somewhere and Tidlius will find it soon…oh!'

The blonde broke off as the dragon began to swoop downwards and soon came to a juttering halt on a mountainside, apparently in the middle of nowhere.

Reinud laughed scornfully as he regarded the scrub-ridden, empty vista. 'Maybe your dragon is not quite as clever as you think!'

'No, wait!' Sydney pointed to a large shadowy figure, striding swiftly across the mountain towards them. 'Who's that?'

The dragon knew exactly who it was and 'mooed' excitedly.

'It's Plutus!' cried Erry and Arry as one. They both leapt off Tidlius's back and bounced over to meet him.

'What's he doing here?' wondered Sydney out loud.

'Don't know, and don't much care,' sniffed Dallasus, who was not pleased about the torrent of rapturous hugs and kisses that Erry and Arry were now pouring over their old friend. However, by the time Sydney had caught up with the girls and Plutus this joy had passed. Plutus was dressed in a long, grey traveling cloak, and carried a formidably chunky wooden staff. He seemed almost breathless, and had clearly been in a great hurry. They all looked terribly grave.

'What's wrong?' demanded Sydney. 'Is it Nigel? Do you know what has Hera done to him?'

'Hera has gone to meet with the mortal they call Kafka,' said Plutus grimly. 'But, before she left, she ordered that Nigel should be hung from the portico of her temple, and remained there for a whole year. Each day, she will send the vultures to peck out his liver. Each night it will grow back, so he can relive the ordeal.'

Sydney's every sinew clenched with anger and a sickening horror. She took a deep, uneven breath before she could even find words.

'That's lower and more disgusting than I even imagined that bitch was capable off - and it's not even original! We've got to get him out of there, now.'

'We have to do something,' nodded Plutus. 'Nigel is a demigod, and his body has great powers of healing, but he's not immortal. Enduring such trauma every day, and without food and water, he will grow weaker and weaker. Young though he is, I fear he will soon be beyond even my powers of healing.'

'So what are we waiting for?' demanded Sydney, letting her hatred fuel her determination. 'And why are you walking away from the palace? We need to take advantage of Hera's not being there!'

Plutus shook his head. 'It's not that easy. We can't fight Hera.'

'Just let me at her,' spat Sydney. 'I've beaten her before, I'll do it again!'

'You won't succeed this time. Before, this was a game to her: it isn't any more. She will kill you and then she will kill Nigel. There is only _one _who can contain her.'

She discerned his meaning quickly: 'You mean Zeus?'

'Oooooh!' Erry and Arry squealed with excitement. 'The big, beardy God of Gods!'

'And Hera's husband who will reprimand her for her disloyalty,' added Sydney thoughtfully. 'I can see what you're trying to achieve, but I'm not sure it's a good idea. Hera is obsessed with Nigel and if Zeus even suspects he is her lover, he'll kill him without a thought as he has so many – or subject him to an even more terrible torment..'

'I don't see what other option we have,' said Plutus. 'It's a risk, but he may listen to us if we plead Nigel's cause.'

Sydney scrunched her hair agitatedly. 'He may. But, as far as I'm concerned, there's too many Gods wrapped up in this affair already. If you are going for Zeus's help, so be it. I'm going to get Nigel now. How far is this palace?'

'Just the other side of this mountain,' replied Plutus. 'But even if you can rescue him, he won't leave the palace. He's still under Hera's spell and thinks he's in love with her.'

'Great!' muttered Sydney. 'And how do I break the spell?'

Plutus paused a moment and fixed her with such probing stare that even Sydney felt slightly uncomfortable.

'What?'

'Do you love him?'

She answered without hesitation: 'of course I do.'

'As anything more than a friend?'

She paused. Her feelings for Nigel had always been so confusing – but that kiss had changed everything. Hadn't it? She started as she felt Dallas's hand brush against her cheek.

'Come on, Sydney. He's a nice boy, but he's not the man you're after.'

She ignored him, bristling angrily: 'Plutus, what do I have to do to save him?'

'The only way the love spell can be broken is if Nigel is seduced by the one he really loves - and who loves him back. It won't be easy. He will not even recognise you and the spell will make him fight you all the way. But remember, as long as you are the one he loves, the real Nigel, deep inside, will be fighting on your side too. And he's incredibly strong. Any lesser spirit would have been obliterated by the spell altogether.'

'I understand,' said Sydney, her confidence growing. 'Well, that's my plan then.'

'I wish you luck then,' said Plutus. 'I'm still going after Zeus.'

'All right. Just don't let him throw any thunderbolts at Nigel. We want him to help, not destroy everything, remember?'

'I'll remember only too well,' sighed Plutus. Unexpectedly, he took her hand and squeezed it. 'You're not the only one who cares about him.'

Sydney managed a smile: 'Thanks. I do appreciate what you're doing…'

She was rudely interrupted by a derisive grunt from Reinud. 'I can't believe you think that you're doing all this for that simpering slave boy, Sydney? Have you lost your senses? Remember that night in Capua!'

'I told you Reinud,' spat Sydney viciously. 'I've forgotten it all, and I didn't even need a love spell! Nigel _is_ everything now – and more important than you'll even know. Now get used to it!'

Despite her anger and worry, Sydney felt a flourish of relief as she stalked off across the mountain. She was almost grateful to her ex-lover for making everything so blatant. The strength of her feelings for Nigel had never been so clear. But was it too late?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Ugh!!!!!!!!! I can't put up with this much longer Stewie. Not even Cleopatra's poisonous bloodroot perfume could be strong enough to drown out that whiff!'

'Will you stop whining? For somebody so tiny, you make more noise than an army of mad Spartans wearing iron clogs. An invisibility cloak is going to be no use if they hear you yattering!'

'I do not yatter!'

'You do!'

'I don't!'

You do!'

'Do not...oh, shhhhhhhhhhhh! Here comes one of the nasty soldiery-men!'

Claudia and Stewie, with the aid of the invisibility cloak, had been creeping round Kafka's camp for what seemed like ages now. Even through the magic fabric, they could perceive the first inklings of dawn. They had rummaged around all the tents, and even crept onto Kafka's own boat but they hadn't seen any sign of the hexameter. They now only had one more tent to check, and all they needed to do was get past a single, sleepy and intoxicated looking soldier, who had just loped over and slumped down on an wine barrel in front of it.

'It doesn't look like _he's_ going to be noticing anything,' hissed Stewie. 'I hate to admit this, but I think that lad's drunk even more than me…argh! Claudia…?'

Claudia had squealed and darted out from under the cloak and now stood, revealed in front of the soldier. The first rays of dawn gleamed ethereally over her pretty pink dress.

'The divine goatherd!' she babbled. 'I can't believe it's really you! You remember me…don't you? You remember me from the marketplace?'

The goatherd, for it was he, gawped at her vacantly, unsure if she was mortal, goddess or nymph. He picked up an empty jug by the barrel and stared perplexedly into the bottom of it, as if to confirm she hadn't sprung from within. Then he put it down again and continued to ogle her.

When Claudia scuttled forward, however, her arms tentatively raised to hug him he jumped up.

'Get away from me, oh sprite of the wine-jug!'

Claudia was not deterred: 'I'm real! I'm real!' she gushed, laying her hand flat on his chest, trying to stroke the aesthetically undulating muscles she had dreamt so long of beneath the thick, tinny breast-plate and tunic. She exhaled slowly, lost in her dreams and passions.

'You're going to be really, _really _dead if you don't come back under here while he still thinks you're not real!'

The nasally voice, sounding loudly from nowhere, was enough to unnerve the drunken goatherd completely. He gave a strangulated yelp of shock – enough to attract the attention of a couple of much senior soldiers standing not far off. They started over.

'Where did _she _come from, man?'

'I…I don't know,' stuttered the goatherd. 'She just sort of appeared out of nowhere!' Taking a step back from Claudia, who was still trying to paw his torso, he added: 'I think she's a nymph, trying to lure me down to Hades!'

'No I'm not,' squeaked Claudia. 'I love you!' A trickle of fear began to dilute her care-free passions when she saw the older, gruff looking men. 'Err, and you're going to defend me from them, right?'

The goatherd, dumfounded, stared back towards the newcomers, one of whom broke into a great guffaw of laugher: 'These mercenaries! Can't even handle a little, lost blonde…oh, hold on? Isn't that _Kafka's _little blonde?'

'It is,' confirmed another. 'Hmmmm, what with the mood the boss in right now, he might be rather pleased to see her again…'

Claudia's blood ran cold and it occurred to her that this could have been a very, very bad idea. She glanced desperately up at her goatherd, but he was still regarding her with a blend of bewilderment and disdain. He even looked relieved as another man grabbed her arm, although he cringed at her piercing scream.

It was he who screamed, nevertheless, when Claudia vanished into thin air.

The next thing he knew was the sound of a splitting crack, as the heads of the two other equally surprised soldiers were smacked together and they tumbled, unconscious, to the ground.

'She's a witch!' he thought and was about to yell the same, when the wine barrel smacked into the side of his head and darkness consumed his limited world.

Stewie fumbled back under the invisibility cloak, to find Claudia huddled in a ball on the sand, trembling and sobbing.

'He didn't even know me!' she whimpered. 'And I've dreamt of him for years. Well, a month at least…and I never thought of anyone else…well, that guard was nice, and Nigel was sweet, if Sydney would ever let me near him…oh, but my Goatherd was the only one who was _really _divine!'

'And I thought _I _was the idiot,' he quipped, but he said it kindly. 'Now let's get out of here, before the whole herd of brainless goat-boys comes after us!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As Sydney rounded the side of the mountain she saw the palace: a monument of stark, white stone and lambent gold, washed in silver moonlight.

It looked more like a temple of worship to Hera than a palace, with eight high, elegant marble columns at its front. They held aloft a vast portico and triangular pediment, the frontage for a massive, pitched-roofed hall beyond. The end of this merged into the side of the mountain itself.

There were no obvious sign of outer walls or defences – but then, it needed none. The palace was set upon a rocky outcrop that soared above a ravine on three sides. With no staircase or bridge - or even a dragon, as the others had gone with Plutus and taken Tidlius - Sydney reasoned that getting into the temple was going to be a long and arduous climb.

But climb she did and, before the moon had quite finished its passage across the night-sky, she found herself lying on the steps of the temple, panting with exhaustion and with hands red-raw from endless grasping at the small cracks of the rock-face.

Gathering herself as quickly as possible, she got up and scanned her eyes up the front of the temple. For the first time, she could see it in its stunning detail. The two columns at the end of the temple, and the shallow, triangular pedestal which they held aloft, were covered in elaborate gold sculptures of nymphs and mortals, life-size and carved in perfect detail. Each held their hands held aloft in worship, some made offerings of clothes, branched and animals. At the top, squinting in her eyes, Sydney discerned a statue of the goddess herself, standing aloft and crowned with laurels. Beneath her was a frieze depicting warriors dedicating their victories, or battling to the death in her honour.

'I don't care if she _is_ a goddess. If that bitch built this herself, she has one massive ego problem,' muttered Sydney.

Yet, she still had not found what she was looking for.

'Where are you Nigel?' she whispered. It was then she heard a tiny moan. It was only faint – more of a whimper – but she knew it came from somewhere above her.

Following the noise, she rushed to the middle of the columns. There, in the gloom beneath the frieze she made out a tiny figure stung up by his arms, swamped by the scale of the temple and still concealed in night shadows. She knew it had to be him.

Sydney's stomach knotted with anger again. Hera had really done it! She wanted to rip out the Goddess's immortal entrails – yet her greatest desire was to call out to Nigel and tell him she was there and that everything was going to be all right. Indeed, she was about to cast caution to the elements and do so, when another dark shape loomed around the corner of the temple, flying at about the same level that Nigel was dangling.

From the shape and the savage crack of its wings, Sydney realized what it was instantly - it was the last remaining Harpie.

'You've made yourself a date with your sisters in Hades,' muttered Sydney and, as the Harpie soared towards Nigel, she swiftly pulled a bow off her back then slipped in an arrow, ready to aim. But the Harpie did not attack him. She merely wafted by.

Sydney paused. The bird-woman was obviously there to guard Nigel, rather than do him harm herself. Killing her, like shouting out, would draw attention to the rescue attempt. Given that Nigel would probably be unable to recognise her - and very possibly out to resist her - she decided it would be better to keep things as quiet as possible, at least until the curse was broken.

But how could she possibly get Nigel down from the top of the pedestal without being seen? She needed a good plan, and she needed it then.

At that instant she heard the soft pad of bare-foot upon marble. She threw herself flat on the bottom step and, very cautiously, peeped up to see who was coming.

It was one of Hera's nearly-naked gold-painted serving nymphs, who was out to capture the purest dew of dawn for later use as part of her mistress's rigorous skincare routine.

Sydney took one look at the ridiculously decorated woman and instantly came up with a plan. If she was going to rescue Nigel and seduce him back to his senses, she was going to have to blend in!

'Might even look good on me,' she mused, and slipped silently into the palace.

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thank you for those reviews! Warnings: some adult themes, sex.**

CHAPTER TWENTY

After a quick dip in a large vat of warm, liquid gold - and dispensing of all her clothes apart from a belt and flimsy undergarment - Sydney found it was not even necessary to hide.

She was passed by another golden servant soon after her dip, and was about to incapacitate the witness, when she realised that they had barely bothered to look at her. There were shiny, painted people everywhere: scrubbing floors, carrying through platters of fruits and wine, or standing as statues, waiting to be beckoned into service on their mistress's return.

Sydney smiled as she caught sight of herself in a highly-polished mirror at the end of a large hall-way. Although the gold was clammy and slightly suffocating against her skin, it was the perfect disguise. Light dazzled enticingly off her most soft and alluring contours. She certainly looked seductive – which was, of course, vital to the more pleasurable part of her mission. Her main problem was her sword and satchel. She kept them hidden behind her back as best as she could, and hurried back to the front of the palace.

Climbing the frieze up the side of the temple, however, was a much harder task. The sculptures there were genuinely sculptures - and the harpie was constantly patrolling the temple, swooping up and down as it circled, its beady eyes ever watchful. Sydney began her ascent slowly - using the arms, limbs and other protruding assets of the statues to hold on.

The first time the harpie passed, Sydney threw herself into the relief posing with one arm lifted begrudgingly towards Hera. She held her breath, and kept as still as it was humanely possible to do so. The beast never even looked at the façade; it was too busy probing the skies and the mountains.

She breathed a long, sigh of relief. 'This is really not a bad plan…'

The sunlight had now hit the front of the temple and Sydney could get a better view of Nigel. He was hanging from two, dull metal chains, attached to cuffs around his wrists. These fastened him to the bottom of the pedestal. He was wearing nothing but a cloth around his waist.

She guessed he was probably awake - she was sure that she heard him whimper again - but his eyes were tightly shut. This was probably fortuitous, she decided, still unsure how he would react to her presence.

Most reassuringly, Nigel seemed perfectly uninjured apart from a bandage on his left arm. It didn't look like the vultures had got to him yet - but then, the vultures attacked by day, not night.

She gritted her teeth and climbed faster, not caring when her feet slipped precariously over the multitude of arms, legs, torsos and offerings. It might only be a matter of moments before Nigel was ripped to pieces.

She reached the top of the podium just at the instant the harpie swooped around the corner like a hurricane. She threw herself back amongst the warriors, her fingers clinging desperately to a narrow sword, and her toes clinging to a platform beneath her feet that was barely as wide as her hand.

But the Harpie passed on, allowing the Sydney to draw breath and cast her gaze over a vista that was nothing less than a stunning. Ahead of her, a wreath of purple mountains cascaded down towards a thin belt of yellow plains that melted into the hazy blue of the distant ocean. Looked directly down, however, even her well-steeled stomach lurched a little. The narrow steps at the front of the temple were so far below that a fall would surely be fatal. Yet even this was nothing compared to the sheer drop of the rock-face at their base, plummeting into a rocky valley far, far beneath. She certainly understood why Nigel was not opening his eyes!

Very cautiously she began easing her way along the front of Hera's adoring warriors until she was nearly in reach of Nigel.

Sydney tautened again as the harpie returned. She could see Nigel tense as it approached, gripping so tightly on the chains that his knuckles whitened. He gave a little cry and tried to twist his body away but still dared not look.

'Poor baby,' thought Sydney. 'He has no idea if it's the harpie or those vultures…'

Even as she thought this, however, the harpie landed on the end of the pedestal, and began crowing with laughter as three new winged beasts were approaching. A lump of horror clogged Sydney's throat. It was a trio of vultures, the sun glinting on their hook beaks, steel-coloured wings and menacing red eyes.

Nigel, too, must have sensed the encroaching danger: she heard him muttering desperately and trying, with renewed effort, to twist around and shield his vulnerable body.

There was no time to hide. Sydney shuffled along the edge of the pedestal, reached down and grabbed his hand.

Nigel jolted with surprise. 'Plutus?' he whispered, the word catching like a sob. He still did not open his eyes.

'No, but it's all right. My name is Sydney and I'm here to help.'

'Sydney?' He knew that name. He _knew_ that name!

'Keep hold of my hand,' she continued. 'I'm going to hack through the chain by smashing it with my sword against the stone.'

The apparent madness of this suggestion stifled Nigel's fear and his eyes flew open. 'What?! Who…err, what will you hold or with?'

'Faith,' muttered Sydney, 'and good balance.'

Before this was put to the test, however, Nigel tore his hand away in a panic, trying his best to clamber alone up onto the pedestal. This was impossible as the chains were not long enough.

Sydney, although frustrated, could comprehend his motivation: the vultures were nearly upon them.

'Hold on, Nigel,' she yelled, and ripped a gold javelin from one the sculpted warriors and hurled it through the air. The missile hit home, plunging through the vulture's feathery chest and condemning it to splinter its bones on the temple steps below. The others, cowed, backed away - and then spiralled down towards their fallen companion for a less arduously-won breakfast.

Nigel, clutching to the bottom of the portico frieze with one hand, gawped up at Sydney in astonishment. 'Who are you?' he demanded. 'I know you…I…'

Sydney scooped down and took his hand again. 'Yes, you know me, but there's no time to explain. If I fall, you hold on, right? The chain on your other wrist will hold us both and then…then I'll think of something.'

Nigel nodded, biting his lip in silent terror at the thought of the drop beneath them.

'Great. Hold on then!'

Sydney smashed her sword down on the chain. The first blow merely left a chip; the second severed it completely. She grunted with the strain as half of Nigel's weight suddenly wrenched down from her arm.

'Please…don't let me go…'

'I'm going to have to,' she hissed, still precariously balancing on her toes, her knees bent and her back flattened against the frieze. 'You need to try and hold on yourself with this hand, while I hack through the other chain. I haven't got a strong enough foothold to be sure I can take your whole weight.'

Nigel shook his head, distraught at the suggestion, but there was no time for arguing. The crowing laughter of the harpie had now turned to bloodcurdling shrieks and, in the corner of her vision, Sydney could see it speeding towards them.

Sydney dropped Nigel's hand, shutting her ears to his distressed cry, and grabbed the other chain. She was relieved to see that Nigel was doing his best to scramble up and get a hold. But, before she could swing the sword again, the harpie was upon them.

It flew at her raised arm, claws outstretched, and knocked the sword clean from her hand. Turning, its wings thumped across her torso with all the momentum of a hurricane and destroyed her balance completely. She found herself teetering on the precipice for only a second – and then the stone steps began rushing up to meet her.

Sydney's arm cracked straight as Nigel caught it. Her heart was pounding so fast that she thought she might explode. She saw he had the sword between his teeth - he must have caught it first, she realized. Nevertheless, no plan was instantly forthcoming when, with them both now dangling helpless and exposed, she twisted her head to see the harpie wheeling back towards them for another attack.

A daunting strength pulled her upwards with a single arm. Suddenly, she was face to face with Nigel, staring into the strange, confused abyss of his green-brown eyes. His arm was coiled assuredly around her waist and, for the most part, there was nothing but a thin layer of cold paint between his sweat-drenched, naked flesh and hers.

'Hold on,' he whispered, his voice muffled by the blade between his teeth. 'This is all I could think of.'

'It's a _great_ plan,' she breathed, wrapping her arms securely around him, allowing him to release her and take hold of the sword. As the harpie plummeted into them, he thrust the blade straight into its cold, black heart without hesitation.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It took longer than Sydney would have liked to climb down. One they had toiled back up to the level of the frieze and severed the second chain, Nigel flattened himself up against it and clung on tightly, seemingly forgetting his feat of heroism. It took a great amount of coaxing and, eventually, of tugging, to get him to move at all.

Once they'd made it down to the steps at the front of the temple, however, the difficulties only mounted.

'Thank you,' offered Nigel, leaning forward with his hands resting on his thighs. He was panting, his head raised only slightly towards her as he tried to avoid looking at the hideous mess left by the carcasses, from which the thick, bloody stench was already becoming unbearable. 'Hera…did she forgive me? Did she send you to help me? Why didn't she send Plutus?'

Sydney groaned inwardly, exacting a smile through tight lips. She'd hoped that his glimmer of recognition might have somehow led him to conquer the curse himself. She now realized his actions had been subconscious, instinctual. The intensity of the moment having passed, he simply thought she was another of Hera's slaves, sent to fetch him back to his 'love'. But could she use this to her advantage?

'That's right,' she replied with a sigh. 'Hera sent me.'

'My mistress forgave me, then – although I did not deserve it.'

'For Gaia's sake,' muttered Sydney. 'Why is nothing ever easy?'

She grabbed his hand and led him under the portico and into the great atrium of the palace, relieved that the air inside was still predominantly fresh and smelt vaguely of eucalyptus. To the side, she spotted a long, red curtain and hurried them both behind. Luckily, it led into an empty, stone-flagged chamber that contained nothing but a few large, pottery storage jars that smelt of slightly-stale nectar.

'It'll do!'

Seizing the back of his hair, she drew Nigel in for a passionate kiss.

He yielded, the tip of his tongue slipping tentatively over hers, but only for an instant. Then he drew away.

'I love only my mistress,' he said quietly.

'Uh, yes,' panted Sydney. 'And that b…I mean, Hera says you're to make love to while she isn't here…to, err, make up for her meanness. So, uh, how about it?'

Nigel stepped back, frowning suspiciously. She could tell from his quickening breath and the flush on his cheeks that he didn't abhor the idea – but she could also sense that he was embroiled in a monumental inner conflict.

'She would never say that,' he breathed. 'You must be lying. I have to go now!'

Nigel dodged sideways to get past her but Sydney caught hold of him. He snatched his hand away energetically, and coldly turned his back. However, to her immense relief, he did not stomp off through the curtain. Something inexplicably stilled him – so Sydney took advantage.

When he finally turned back, Nigel's eyes widened and his breath hitched in his throat. Sydney had ripped away the shoulder clasps from her thin translucent robe and it had tumbled to the ground. Her revealed flesh sparkled in the shafts of light that descended from high, narrow windows.

His burgeoning lust mingled with a misted affection: 'I know you!' he stuttered, 'I know you!'

'Yes, you do,' husked Sydney. 'But still not well enough!'

She edged towards him, her hips swaying seductively and her tongue moving languidly over dewy, bronzed lips. One svelte arm reached towards him, bidding him to come to her with the skill of an erotic dancer.

'No!'

In a lightning quick movement, his hand grabbed hers and held it out rigidly as if engaged in a physical struggle to keep her at arms length. Yet the battle was purely mental – and internal. His trembling vibrated to her core, transmitting a terrifying, unbounded power. Sydney was suddenly sure he could crush her bones with just the flex of his thumb. She knew he would not.

'I can't do it!' he cried dejectedly. 'I don't love you, I love only Hera!'

She exhaled slowly, trying to maintain her sultry composure, and purred: 'You won't be the first man who's lain with a woman he doesn't love.'

'No…but…nnnng!' There was genuine anguish in Nigel's cry as he let his hold of her drop. He winced, rubbing his forehead as if he had a headache. 'But…it's wrong. It makes you know better than a…a…whore… and, I don't know why but...I respect you more than that…'

As her arms encroached around his shoulders, he tensed but didn't move. Simmering with pent-up desire, his eyes flitted up her body, lingering over her glittering breasts, her full mouth, the deep pools of her mahogany eyes. He wanted nothing more than to touch her - but a painful flash of conscience over his adored mistress forbid him to return her embrace. Undeterred, her gaze met his with a smoldering confidence.

'One who loved only Hera wouldn't care for my honour,' she teased. 'So maybe we should stop…'

A little moan escaped the back of Nigel's throat as Sydney's lips brushed over his forehead, dropping tiny wet caresses over his cheekbones, and the youthfully downy stubble on his chin. Then he gasped as she lowered her focus, her mouth dusting over the taut, shallow muscles of his chest and stomach while her fingers skimmed his hip-bone, circling ever lower. As she felt him quiver with pleasure, she straightened and planted her lips a tantalizing hairs-breath from his.

'Still want to stop?'

'I can't…do…this…'

She laughed breezily as she toyed with the baby-soft hair on the back of his neck: 'Yes you can! Go on, kiss me! Like you did before…'

And he did. His lips sealed over hers as he scooped her up in his arms with a flourish of compulsion. A plethora of keenly anticipated ecstasy engulfed her, sweeping like a tender ocean through her weightless form. His mouth seemed to undulate in synch with the rest of his body, imbued with a fragile, erudite strength. He didn't overwhelm her; he coaxed her and entreated her with his touch – yet it was all wonderfully, excitingly familiar. He remembered her now! She was sure.

When he finally put her down, Nigel merely gazed at her, a little unfocussed. She suspected the force of his passion must be just as bewildering for him as it was for her! She eased him down so they could snuggle on the tiny heap of discarded clothes.

'Do you remember me now, Nigel?'

'I…I think so…' he stuttered.

'Ready to remember more?'

'I, um, don't think I ever _knew_ any more.'

She giggled breathily, cupping her hands around his face as she leant down over him. 'Then I think its time you learnt!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'Remember me now?'

Sydney stroked back Nigel's dampish and unusually dark-looking hair. He was lying still partially on top of her, his head on her chest. She could feel his deep, even breaths and the steady reverberations of his heartbeat. His skin was gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat and with delicate smears of gold pain. He had never looked more beautiful.

'Uh, yes, of course I do,' he said, sitting up a little and shooting her a reserved smile. 'But everything between when we kissed in the cell and the moment that the…the…um…'

'The earth did a somersault and the stars exploded overhead?' offered Sydney helpfully. 'They did for me!'

'Yes, um, _then_,' he murmured, blushing slightly. 'That was…wonderful, unforgettable! But everything else is a little unclear. You say that Hera made me fall in love with her? How long have I been here?'

'Oh, not that long,' replied Sydney, 'and I've a feeling you'll be glad not to remember the state you were in when I arrived. Now we've got a get out of here fast, before she gets back.'

'I'm with you on that one,' sighed Nigel, reaching up and stroking his knuckles over her cheek. 'But, hard though this floor is, I'll be sorry to move.'

'Me too,' grinned Sydney, catching his hand and nuzzling it. 'I kind of like it here!'

'In Hera's palace?' teased Nigel, his gaze flitting hungrily down her glistening flesh. 'I suppose that the gold paint does suit you! You could ask for a job, although the rest of the décor is pretty terrible… '

'No, silly! Right _here_!' She motioned, only with her eyes, to how their embrace melded their bodies as one. 'Right here in your arms! And seeing as I broke the spell, I suppose that means that…'

'You're never allowed to leave!' interjected Nigel. 'Me, that is, not this palace!'

She licked her lips and moved in closer: 'You know, Nigel, I don't take orders from anybody, even demigods. But in your case I might make an exception…'

The kiss was broken only as the earth shifted - but not, unfortunately for Sydney and Nigel, in the way it had before.

The ground shook as if it was heralding the approach of a thousand elephants, although only one pair of loudly penetrating footsteps approached.

'It's Hera!' cried Nigel. 'We've got to get out of here. She really will kill us this time.'

'She'll certainly try!'

They both scrambled to their feet, pulling on what clothes they still had.

'I think I'd better warn you,' admitted Sydney. 'Hera might not be the only deity, we have to deal with.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, Plutus thought the only way to beat Hera would be to go and fetch Zeus.'

'Zeus!!' squeaked Nigel, fiddling unsuccessfully to fasten his loin-cloth under ever-increasing stress. 'What…how…why? This thing is impossible…'

'I'm not sure,' breathed Sydney, swatting his hands out of the way and quickly ensuring there would be no embarrassing losses. 'I just hope he's decided we're in the right…ow!'

'Agh!' yelled Nigel, covering his ears. 'What the…'

The bellowing and screeching clapped around the palace like an electric storm:

'WHERE'S MY WIFE?'

'RIGHT HERE! NOT THAT YOU'VE NOTICED FOR THE LAST FEW CENTURIES!'

'AAAARGH! THERE YOU ARE YOU _UNFAITHFUL HARLOT_!'

'UNFAITHFUL? THERE'S A JOKE COMING FROM A GOD SO DESPERATE TO GET UNDER ANOTHER GIRL'S CHITON HE TRANSFORMED HIMSELVES INTO A SWAN! AND IF YOU'RE EXPECTING YOUR DINNER ON TIME YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER THING COMING - YOU _CRETANOUS OLD BOAR_!'

'YEAAAAARGH!'

'EEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHOOOOOOOOOOO!'

Nigel and Sydney found themselves huddled in a corner, their ears crushed under their hands.

'Shall we try and creep out while they're diverted?' mouthed Nigel, cringing at the noise.

'Lets do it,' nodded Sydney. 'This could go on all night, and if we stay here much long we'll go deaf! In Gaia's name, that woman sounds like a choir of harpies who've singed their feathers on Hephaestus's forge!'

'And Zeus is just bloody loud!'

Sydney snuck to the corner of the curtain and peeped through. Hera and Zeus, a very large but old-looking man with a long, white beard and toga, were squaring up to each other from far ends of the main chamber of the palace. They'd both stopped yelling, but the silence was a foreboding one. Sydney was pretty sure that all Hades was about to be let loose.

She grabbed Nigel's hand, and darted into the open as far as the nearest pillar, where they could dart out of sight.

'We'll wait until they start again, and then make the dash for the door,' she breathed. Nigel communicated his dissent with a barely discernable nod.

At that instant, Hera and Zeus 'started' again – and this time, they really meant it!

'YOU _SCARAB-INFESETED HAG_! I'LL TEACH YOU TO BUILD PALACES BEHIND MY BACK!'

Zeus raised his colossal arms. Fire and black brimstone streaked out of his fingers. His aim wasn't great, though. Lightening bounced off the stone altar in the middle of the room and smashed into several of the side-pillars. It swiped through marble like it was clotted cream.

'HOW DARE YOU! YOU…YOU…YOU _KNARLY OLD TURTLE_!'

Reaching her arms above her, Hera materialized fountains of molten ice, which quenched the fires and bolstered the columns – but only for a second.

Zeus struck again, flame and rock hurtling in all directions, melting the ice and felling a whole row of pillars. The massive, pitched roof buckled and slabs of solid gold, marble and plaster began showering amidst the estranged couples shouts and screams.

Nigel and Sydney – who'd taken their chance - were already on the steps at the front of the shattering palace, along with a crowd of nervous-looking golden nymphs.

'How are we going to get out of here?' asked Nigel, glancing at the precipice nervously. 'Please don't say we have to climb down there! I mean, I'll do it, but I won't like it…'

'I'm hoping for something a little quicker,' admitted Sydney. 'Come on, Plutus. Where are you?'

Suddenly, the nymphs exploded into a chorus of screams, running to take shelter where they could. Sydney spontaneously threw her body over Nigel's as the portico of the temple came crashing down. A large portion on the frieze shattered on the stone not three foots lengths behind them.

Yet when she lifted her head she nearly cheered with joy and relief. There was Tidlius, Plutus and the others, the dragon's great green wings flapping away the dusty air as it landing on the edge of the rubble-covered steps.

Looking the other way, however, she felt nothing but an invidious wrath: it was Hera. The Goddess's silky clothes were smudged and torn, her black makeup was streaking down her cheeks, and so many jet-black strands had fallen out of her beehive haircut, that it resembled a nest of drunken snakes.

Hera wasn't just angry. She was so livid that words were inadequate and her lips formed only a poisonous glower. All the same, Sydney felt no fear, only a numbing fury, as she rose to her feet.

This was the woman who'd send her harpies to eat babies for sport, tried to kill her a dozen times, aided Kafka against them and stolen and tortured her Nigel.

If Hera was mad, Sydney could more than match her.

The Goddess opened her mouth to scream with rage, but Sydney got in first:

'It's you and me, bitch: right here, right now. No fire, no tricks and no disappearing! Let's settle this like women!'

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thanks for those reviews. Warnings: sheer absurdity! And sorry I don't quite reach those big showdowns yet - there was a lot of stuff to sort out first!!! **

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

'Are you insane?' cried Nigel, dragging aside Sydney and breaking her ferocious deadlock of hatred with Hera.

'For a start, next time a temple pedestal nearly crushes us to oblivion, will you please let _me _cover _you_? I know I'm a little slow in my reactions – I'm working on it! – but _I'm _the demigod!! And secondly, as you quite rightly said, Hera's a bitch! She won't play straight and she'll strike you stone dead. If anybody is going to fight her, it's going to be me!'

Sydney couldn't resist a glimmer of a smile: 'You finished?'

'Yes!'

'I thought you weren't sure about controlling your powers?'

'I wasn't…I mean, I'm not…but if you insist on taking these ridiculous risks I'm going to have learn - fast!'

'Err, well, this attitude is new!'

'Uh…yes!' Nigel gave a determined nod. 'But it seemed like am, um, ideal time.'

Together, they squared up to Hera. Nigel folded his arms and raised his chin defiantly. Sydney, standing just a little ahead of him, curled her fists in anticipation.

'Looks like I won the most important thing already, huh?' offered Sydney, gesturing to Nigel.

Hera sneered as she tossed her calamitous hair: 'Oh, I really do tire of this game!'

She stepped aside, revealing a hulking, dust-sodden silhouette emerging very slowly from the rubble.

'My dear,' she said to her husband. 'That's the nasty little semi-mortal who dared to share my bed. What are you going to do about _him_, then?'

Sydney's breath hitched with a sardonic disbelief as Zeus emitted a bestial roar. He pointed towards Nigel, his fingertips already glowing with celestial fire. She darted in front of him, but he pushed her aside.

'I won't let you save me,' he whispered. 'But…I do love you. And thank you for earlier…'

'Uh, likewise, but for Gaia's sake don't just stand there!' She grabbed his arm, and they tumbled down behind a pile of rubble.

'Get away from me! You saw what happened earlier, the thunderbolt will just slice through the rock, and its not you he's after!'

'Don't care! Besides, we can make it to the dragon! When I say jump…jump!'

They jumped - at the instant that Zeus unleashed a barrage of flame and rock that no human could be fast enough to escape. The divine missiles whip-lashed straight towards Sydney and Nigel - only to be intercepted by the bulky form of Plutus, who had launched himself into the fray with enthusiasm and impeccable timing. Absorbing every spark, the big man was hurled backwards, landing in a crumpled steaming heap on top of a particularly astounded Nigel.

Luckily, dozy old Zeus didn't even notice that he had missed. By the time the smoke had cleared, he had thrown his errant wife over his shoulder and was already stomping back off across the clouds in the direction of Olympus. His weary grumbling drowned out even his wife's hysterical shrieks.

Nigel dragged himself out from under Plutus's charred and unmoving form, his face whiter than the fluffy, fair-weather clouds above them, and panting with shock.

'He…he saved us, Sydney. I can't believe he gave up his life!'

'He was a good man,' whispered Sydney, pulling Nigel up. He buried his face in her shoulder, and daren't even look at Plutus and see what an awful punishment he had taken in their stead.

Sydney could tell by the way he was shaking that Nigel was fighting back tears, but she could also hear a strange, unearthly bellowing from somewhere not far off. She soon realised it was the dragon crying. Erry and Arry had descended into cataclysmic fits of sobs. Even Dallasus and Reinud, while readily offering consolation to the pair of triplets, looked a little saddened.

'We should put the body on the dragon and fly somewhere nice to bury him,' sniffed Nigel. 'I feel so…guilty. I wonder why he did it?'

'I'll tell you why,' said a bored voice. Plutus rolled over swishing aside his blackened cape to reveal not even a burn on the spotless tunic underneath. 'Because I'm immortal – worst luck!'

'Plutus!'

Nigel flung his arms around the big man's neck, narrowly beating a grateful Sydney to the task. 'Thank you…thank you so much! I can't believe it, I had no idea you were a God too.'

'Not a very useful God,' replied Plutus bitterly, returning the hug. 'I'm only a minor God. A very minor God! Can you even imagine how dull it is passing through eternity with merely a strength _slightly_ greater than a mans, and a talent for healing. I get ordered about by all the greater Gods – guard this, kill that, heal him. Nigel may not be immortal, but at least his Mama had a few tricks up her sleeves and left him in good stead. As for me? Nothing but an eternity of servitude!' He yawned widely. 'I'm just so bored of existence – although, Nigel has, I admit, livened things up a little for me.'

'Me too,' interjected Sydney, with a sympathetic laugh. 'But that was a big risk, Plutus. A thunderbolt from Zeus might even have struck down even an immortal!'

'I half hoped it would,' he shrugged, finally relinquishing a slightly ruffled-looking Nigel from his bear-like embrace. 'I was in love once, with a beautiful shepherd boy - but he went away to war, never came back. And even if he had, he would have grown old and died… what's the point of loving for somebody like me? You'll never know how many times I've wished for the sweet release of death! And how few interesting people I've had to talk to!'

'You've had us!' twittered Erry.

'See what I mean?' he lamented. 'I've had nobody to comfort me - until Nigel, of course. Even if he had lost his mind at the time!'

'Um, it was great, I'm sure,' flustered Nigel, cringing slightly. He didn't remember much about Plutus since he'd left the hills on Tidlius several days ago, and seriously hoped he hadn't been sending out any 'mixed messages' in his bewitched state. Suddenly becoming very conscious he was still wearing nothing but his loincloth, he wrapped his arms around his chest and tried to avoid Plutus's eye.

Fortunately, Erry and Arry, having overlooked or misunderstood his snide comment, were now cooing relentlessly over the 'minor God'; pawing, kissing and making an almighty fuss of him. Nigel took the opportunity to creep away for a quiet word with Sydney.

'Thank the Earth Mother that's over! So what's the plan now? And, more to the point, where do we get some new clothes?'

'Uh, I'll think of something. We need to get back to Neapolis and see what Stewie and Claudia have turned up with the hexameter, and get after Kafka.'

'The hexameter?' queried Nigel. 'But I still remember it? Why did they need to look? And, incidentally, there's no way I am going after Kafka without my clothes on!'

'Look, it's a long story - I'll tell you on the way. And we'll find you some new clothes before we encounter Kafka, I promise.'

She smiled ingratiatingly over at Erry and Arry. 'I'm afraid we're going to need to borrow your dragon again.'

'You can take him,' cooed Arry. 'Anything for Nigel! As long as you send Tidlius back again when you've finished – and lend us Nigel for a visit some time. But we've decided we're going to stay here!'

'Right here?'

'Yes – well, over on the green side of the mountain to be precise. It's nice, and now the Garden of Life has shrivelled away, we thought we'd make it our home.'

'We're going to hang around for a bit, too,' added Dallasus, who had finally alighted from the dragon and was sizing up several of the golden serving-nymphs at once.

'Oh, yes,' grinned Reinud. 'There are plenty of rich-pickings to be had in the rubble of this temple!'

Sydney snorted. 'Gone off the quest for the Branch then?'

'Err, sort of,' conceded Dallasus. 'It seems to have brought you and Nigel more infamy and death-threats than fame and fortune. Not that I can't handle that…but I think I can make myself pretty famous around here.' He leaned in to Sydney's ear and asked in a whisper: 'I mean - all these female nymphs and absolutely no men! They're going to need some help, right?'

'Don't count on it,' growled Sydney. 'Plutus, are you going to come with us? I'm sure we could use an immortal on our side.'

Plutus, who had reverted to looking tired, gave a big yawn. 'Yes, I'm in. I suppose I might get lucky - this time somebody might hurl an even bigger thunderbolt at me!'

'Well, this is just lovely!' exclaimed Nigel, his sarcastic grimace indicating he thought it was anything but.

'What?' asked Sydney, allowing him to tug her aside again.

'If _he's_ coming, I _really_ want some clothes now! I mean, he's a nice person, and I'm eternally grateful to him for saving our lives, but it's blatantly obvious he…he, uh, you know….'

Nigel yelped as he felt a large, warm hand on his shoulder.

'It's alright, lad,' said Plutus, shooting Sydney a knowing wink. 'If Hera's love-spell couldn't tear your affections from Sydney, what chance has a minor God like me? But I would ask you to accept just one little gift, as a token of my affection.'

'Oh, uh, I don't know…I couldn't possibly,' flustered Nigel. 'I mean, you've already done so much...it wouldn't be right.'

'Well, I'd better keep these then,' sighed Plutus, pulling out a small pack from under his charred cloak. 'It's a shame, because it took me ages to mend them and they're going to be much too small for me!'

'My clothes!'

Plutus held up the adamantine armour, newly sparkling in midnight silver as it had when he'd awoken in the Garden of Life. Then, from seemingly nowhere, the minor God pulled out the well-fitting tunic and breastplate - and even his bejeweled shield, belt and silver sword. Forgetting everything, Nigel threw his arms around Plutus's neck again, narrowly avoiding impaling himself on the weaponry.

'Thank you so much! I thought I'd lost the sword and shield forever - and the tunic was in such a mess!'

'I made new ones,' shrugged Plutus. 'It was me who constructed the originals, anyway – to your mama's speculations, of course. Not that I begrudged it! You more than did them justice – you looked every inch the demigod.'

'Thank you,' repeated Nigel, favouring Plutus with a warm and only slightly abashed smile as he took the garments from him. 'You really are a good friend.'

'I can't wait to see you in them,' beamed Sydney. 'But we've still got a branch to find – so, come on Perseus! You've still got a gorgon to slay, and you'd better go dress for the final act!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'You never saw _anything _of the hexameter?' queried Sydney, half-suspecting that Stewie had not even bothered to leave the taverna. He certainly had been making himself comfortable there – as the pile of empty wine-jugs testified.

'Na-da. Nothing. We looked in every tent – well, apart from one.'

'Apart from one? Stewie! I trusted you on this one. It was important we knew what the Sybil of Tibertine said!'

'Well, I'm sorry,' replied Stewie, with an indifferent sniff. 'Something, uh, came up and we had to get out of there. And I never said you could trust me. You should probably know better than that, huh?'

'Yes, I suppose I should. Where is Claudia anyway? She _is_ all right?'

'She's around here somewhere,' said Stewie, surveying the room over the rim of his latest, brim-full beverage. 'She's been moping ever since we got back.'

'Moping? Why?'

'You'd better ask her that. Look there she is.'

He indicated to a near-empty corner of the taverna where a little figure was hunched over a table, her head in her hands.

'I think I will ask her,' breathed Sydney. 'Look, don't go anywhere. I still need to find that hexameter and – Gaia help me – I still need _you_ to translate it!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sydney made her way over to where Claudia was staring miserably into space, her eyeliner uncharacteristically smudged under both a pair of reddish, damp eyes. More than a couple of perfectly-groomed blonde waves had slipped out of place.

'Here,' offered Sydney, pulling a piece of finely-perfumed cotton from her satchel. 'This might help!'

'Hey Sydney,' said Claudia drearily, not even bothering to look up as she took the handkerchief. 'Did you get Nigel back?'

'Yes I did,' smiled Sydney, 'although not without a little bit of trouble.' Grabbing a three-legged stool, she pulled it up at the table next to her assistant. 'So are you going to tell me what's wrong?'

Claudia sighed as if the all the sorrows of the world were hers to carry alone. 'Everything's wrong, Sydney. The man I dreamt about for, oh, years and years doesn't even know me! I always thought the moment he _really _saw me, that would be it! Love, life, happiness and song…but he just…just…oh, Sydney! He just hated me!' She burst into a torrent of self-pitying sobs.

Sydney rubbed her back consolingly. 'This isn't your 'divine goatherd' by any chance, is it? Did you see him somewhere in the city?'

'Yes!' she wailed. 'I saw him… it wasn't in the city, but…um…oh! He didn't look at me with love at all! He thought I was some sort of idiot… imagine? And, well, I think he'd been drinking and maybe… maybe he isn't quite what I thought he was as all…' Her weeping accelerated towards the hysterical. 'But I did love him, Sydney. You know I did!'

'Oh Claudia,' soothed Sydney. 'I know it hurts now - and you probably won't believe me - but you'll get over him. And it's not been years, has it? If memory serves, you only spotted him for the first time about, um, fourteen days ago.'

'Is that all?' snivelled Claudia. 'Well, I must have thought about him _all_ the time then, because it _seems _like fourteen years.'

'I'm sure it does…but, err, I'm afraid you can't really convince me you've thought of him for _all _those fourteen days either. There's been a few other things on your mind hasn't there?'

'I suppose. I guess that guard yesterday was nice, I did have fun picking all those wedding dresses…and hating Kafka took up a lot of 'thinking time'. And…err…I guess I've thought about poor Georgus a lot.' Claudia gave a strange little hiccup and threw her hand over her lips.

'Georgus? You mean Georgus Brownus back at the temple, who I went to retrieve Dionysus's lute with? I thought he bored you?'

'He did…but now…he's sort of…dead.'

Sydney stared at her, her full lips slightly parted. 'What happened? Claudia…what is it? You must tell me!'

Claudia had started wailing again, this time even more passionately than before. 'It's all my fault! If only I'd listened to you… but it was his own fault too, he should never have followed me. But he was so…brave…'

The tragic story spluttered forth, while Sydney listened, attentive, increasingly saddened – and a little angered.

As she finished her tail, Claudia fixed her with an anxious, tear-blurred gaze. 'So - do you hate me?'

Sydney said nothing for a moment, struggling to master an ambivalent blend of grief and abhorrance. Of course, she didn't hate Claudia - and she knew that her silence was upsetting her friend further. Nevertheless, she had been very fond of Georgus and mourned his loss. She also wished she could be sure that Claudia's sorrow was about the sacrifice of a good man's life, rather than her own worry about being 'hated'.

She didn't speak until the tears were once more pouring, unfettered, down Claudia's flushed cheeks: 'You _are_ really sorry, aren't you? I mean, it wasn't your fault he died - you could never have foreseen that - but you _have_ learnt? This world is too dangerous a place to go running after your latest whim without thinking… good people get killed. Next time, _you_ could get killed!'

'I thought I had learnt,' she snivelled. 'But then…yesterday…when I saw my goatherd, I forgot everything. It was in Kafka's camp, you see, and I just sort of…ran to him. I hate to think might have happened if Stewie hadn't got us out of there.'

'Stewie?' Sydney blinked in astonishment. Stewie had actually done something good? He'd saved Claudia's life and not even shouted about it? She couldn't help murmuring: 'That _is_ amazing.'

'So do you hate me now?' she whimpered again.

'No,' replied Sydney evenly. 'I don't hate you. But you are really going to have to learn – love isn't about throwing yourself at a man you barely know just because he looks 'divine'. Its,' she exhaled heavily, 'rather more complicated than that.'

'Really? It looked pretty simple right from the start with you and Nigel…you _have _worked it all out with him now, haven't you?'

Sydney laughed dryly, despite herself. 'Claudia – how can somebody so clueless about their own emotions be so perceptive about others?'

Claudia giggled too, despite the wetness still streaking her pink cheeks and splashing onto her pinker dress. 'It was kind of obvious! So you have sorted it out then?'

'I think so… but that's not the point, Claudia. What _are_ we going to do about you?'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Nigel was keeping guard on Tidlius in the disused stable, whilst hiding in a haystack, when Sydney and the others rejoined him.

'Did you get the hexameter?' he asked anxiously, jumping out of the hay. Darting a smile at Stewie and Claudia he added: 'By the way, it's wonderful to see you both again.'

'Great to see you too, old friend,' grinned Stewie as Sydney picked bits of hay out of Nigel's hair and brushed down his lovely, shiny armour. 'Mashed any killer wolves lately?'

'Not lately,' admitted Nigel, still smiling but slightly abashed.

Stewie gave him a knowing wink: 'You've been a killer with the ladies, though. Or so I hear!'

'These two didn't get the hexameter,' chipped in Sydney, saving Nigel another blush. 'So we're going to have to grab that at the same time we grab the branch.'

'That's the _plan_???' asked Stewie and Nigel as one.

'Uh, yes. Until anyone comes up with a better one. Any ideas?'

'Uh, no.'

'There you go then. Where's Plutus?'

'He's gone to see if he can find any news on Kafka,' replied Nigel. 'He'll be back soon.'

Claudia, her tears wiped away and her grooming restored to its usual perfection, had been regarding Nigel with a renewed interest. She'd decided he looked _different_: there was an air of maturity and a healthy, lightly-bronzed glow about his complexion that she hadn't noticed before; his hair was slightly longer and there was a beguiling hint of world-weariness abound his eyes. He even seemed a little taller and his shoulders broader, although still smooth, rounded and eminently touchable. And that armour, which hugged so becomingly to the contours of his chest – entrancing! She ran her tongue slowly over her lips.

'Nigel. I've got to say: this whole demigod thing looks fantastic on you!'

'Uh, err, thanks. I think,' replied Nigel, hiding his embarrassment behind a studious attempt to extract grain from under his fingernails.

'Oh, you've still got bits in your hair. Let me!' Claudia started shimmying over, but Sydney blocked her path, now far from amused.

'Claudia! Our little chat, remember? Think before you leap, or, rather - _think before anybody else gets killed_! Besides, Nigel's mine!'

'I suppose so,' pouted Claudia. 'Nigel _is _a honey, though! Oh my…' Her jaw dropped as the tall, blonde and over-developed Plutus appeared at the stable door.

'Now _that_ is truly divine!' she squealed. 'Nigel, I can't believe you've been so rude as to keep me from your friend - you've _got _to introduce us!'

Sydney and Nigel shared a look, before he raised his hand to his forehead with a moan: 'Oh, marvellous! Could it get any more complicated?'

He didn't, however, detect the tiny glimmer of interest in Plutus's usually moribund expression as the preening but undeniably vivacious Claudia bounced over to him. She babbled some favourite lyrics, which were not entirely un-poetic:

''The Muses bring Love; and may the Muses ever give me song at my desire, dear melodious song, the sweetest physic in the world!'' She fluttered her eyelashes up at the Greek giant: 'I think I've found my song!'

The immortal peered down at her with a mixture of amazement and bemusement, and thought: 'Now _she_ is an enigma!'

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The dragon inevitably caused an outcry as it soared up into the cloud-dappled skies above the city, but the stage for subtlety had passed. Time was running too thin now.

It was the first time that any of them had flown on the dragon by day, and the only occasion that Claudia had flown at all. Once she'd stopped screaming, she decided she rather liked the weird, floating sensation in her stomach and the wind whistling in her ears. Moreover, she found it a great excuse to demand that Plutus, who she'd persuaded to sit behind her, wrapped his strong arms around her.

Nigel was not quite so thrilled: 'I've had more than enough of heights for one lifetime,' he muttered, clinging resolutely around Sydney's waist, his eyes squeezed shut again.

'Come on, Nigel,' laughed Sydney. 'It's even more spectacular than last time.'

She flicked the back of his hand, sensing that the surprise would force him to look. 'See?'

Nigel gasped. He _did_ see: miles and miles of rugged coastline and shimmering, ocean; its gently undulating blue sheen was broken only by exquisitely tiny ships, looking too small to even be toys, and which left trails of frothy white foam in their wake.

'It's worth it,' she smiled, glancing back. 'Isn't it?'

But Nigel was frowning, and she discerned his worry was not just concerning their altitude. Not daring to pry an arm away from his hold on her, he gestured back towards Neapolis with his head, and to the smoking mountain. Its grey slopes glowered above the city, as sombre and forbidding as ever. The crater at the top was dissembled by low hanging, black clouds - a startling juxtaposition to the unblemished blue sky that surrounded it.

'Isn't that thing rather more, err, smoky than usual?'

Sydney raised an eyebrow, only mildly concerned: 'I think it might be. I wonder if it will come to anything.'

'Is the Fire-God angry?' piped up Claudia.

She couldn't help laughing. 'Not with us, I hope. That's the last thing we need!'

Her thoughts were interrupted as Claudia shouted out with even more excitement: 'Look, over there! Look! I can see the island, I can see Camae!!'

Using her hand to shade her eyes from the sun, Sydney squinted towards the horizon. She could, indeed, just make the front of its proud, grey cliffs and the faint outline of the mountains beyond.

'It looks like the mountains on the island might be smoking too,' pointed out Nigel, but Sydney wasn't listening. She was trying to find the temple and the city. She saw no flames, and could sense no echoes of terror – but, after all that had happened in her absence, was there anything left there at all?

An uneasy hope simmered in the pit of her stomach as a small, white building reflected the gleam of the sunlight, high on the cliffs. It was the temple.

'I can see it! I can see it!' cried Claudia.

'Yes, so can I!' Nevertheless, Sydney wondered if any of her painstakingly gathered and preciously guarded relics were still there - or, more importantly, if any of the people she knew and loved remained. Georgus was already gone. How many others had paid the ultimate price for their quest?

'So, your father said that most of the people fled when they thought the Neapolitans on Kafka were united against them?' she asked Claudia.

'Uh, I think so. Most of them headed for the wilderness… apart from Papa. He, um, said he preferred to try diplomacing.'

'It's di-plo-ma-cy!' articulated Nigel. 'Really Claudia, and it isn't even _my_ first language!'

'I'm afraid your Papa was ready enough to sacrifice Nigel and I for his diplomacy,' pointed out Sydney.

'Sorry,' she winced. 'I think he was always trying to do the best for everyone… sort of.'

'It isn't your fault,' shrugged Sydney. 'I supposed he might have prevented all out war…at a cost. I wonder if any of our people started to return when he signed the treaty?'

'Not many, apparently,' bemoaned Claudia. 'Everybody was still too afraid of Kafka's soldiers. I wonder it will ever be the same again? It's sort of sad. I was born on the island, and I've never thought of anywhere else as home. It used to feel so safe and warm…'

She broke off as her eyes darted down to the muscular arms that enveloped her tiny frame. She tentatively placed her petite hand over the much, much larger one. 'Though I feel pretty safe now…'

'I don't!' exclaimed Nigel. 'And I don't expect to do so even when I've got my feet on firm ground. Can anybody see any sign of Kafka?'

'His boat is nowhere to be seen,' admitted Sydney. 'He must have docked around the far-side of the island.'

'Why would he do that? Wouldn't he just want to head straight to the cave with the branch?'

'You'd think so,' replied Sydney. 'I wonder if somebody is still there, and has prevented him from docking at the city itself. Well, whatever motivated him, it's got to be good if it means we get to the cave first.'

As the temple grew larger and clearer, Sydney couldn't repress the pang of nostalgia. 'We did have some happy times there, didn't we, Claudia? I really don't think anything will ever return to how it was. Even if the city is restored, I severely doubt they'll want me back.' She paused, breathing slowly. 'It's sad. I had come to think of it as home.'

'Weren't you born on Camae too?' asked Nigel, and it suddenly occurred to him that, close as they had become, Sydney had been very quiet about her past, beyond her double life as a Sybil and Relic Hunter, and the odd mention of a much-loved father. They'd been lovers for such a short time there had been no chances discuss these things, and before then he'd never liked to pry.

'No,' she admitted. 'I was born in Delphi, and raised by my papa. I had a really happy childhood – he taught me so much of what I know about history and relics. But I always felt some sort of empathy with the Goddesses; they fascinated me, called to me – and the Oracle at the temple there believed I had some sort of calling, too. So I became her assistant as soon as I was old enough, and eventually, I was sent to aid the previous Sybil of Camae, in the last years before she died. The rest you already know.'

Nigel found himself dwelling on the earlier part of this story: 'So, like me, you never knew your mother?'

'No. She left… and she had another daughter, too, by another man. I met my sister only once, when I was first an assistant here. She visited the temple, late one night, to make an offering.'

'A sister!' exclaimed Claudia. 'You never mentioned her before.'

Sydney shrugged. 'She means little to me so there's nothing to say. I adore my father, though. Maybe when all of this is over, I'll have time to go back and see him.'

She peered back over her shoulder, pleased to confirm her suspicion that Nigel was so close that his chin was almost rested on her shoulder. His balmy breath tickled her cheek.

'Why don't you come with me? Back to Delphi! We could take the dragon?'

Her heart sank as his eyes darted downward; the edges of his mouth curved a little, but with regret. 'I'd like to, but there are people I must get back to as well - if we ever get out of here!'

'Your aunt?'

'Yes. And it's only fair that I return to my people and tell them what the prophecy was all about. It _is_ why I came.'

'Yes, of course you must.'

Sydney looked away, concealing her perturbation. It had been easy to forget that Nigel came from such a long way away - that they both came from distant lands. It had never seemed a problem - until then.

'We'll work something out,' she told herself and ripped her mind away from this painful contemplation, back to the task ahead.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tidlius, knowing as ever, flew straight to the cliff-top at the side of the temple. From here, a narrow staircase wound precariously down the rock face, leading to the entrance of the sacred cave where the Sybil communed with Gaia.

'What do we do now?' asked Nigel, quickly slipping off the Dragon's back and noting their closeness to the cliffs with dismay. He was sick and tired of peering over terrifying precipices – so tired, in fact, they were actually starting to bother him less.

'Well, this is the way down to the caves. There's nobody about, so I'm guessing that Kafka hasn't got here yet. So, if we hide in the scrub and jump out, as least we'll have the element of surprise…'

'That's still the plan? Lie in the leaves and then ambush him?'

'Have you got a better one yet?'

'No!'

Nigel glanced up at Plutus. The minor God was standing with his arms folded, his brow creased with perplexity: a simpering Claudia was clinging to his tunic, burbling away so fast and happily that he could barely comprehend her.

Still, when he caught Nigel's eye, he managed a reassuring smile and jutted out his strong chin, as if to say 'There's nothing to worry about…apart from troublesome blondes!'

'Come on Nigel,' joked Sydney. 'You'd need an army take on just me _and_ Plutus.' she paused and added tentatively: 'And with you on our side, even an army wouldn't be enough!'

To Sydney's delight, Nigel grinned. 'I suppose that's a plan then.'

'_Really_?'

'Yes! Between you and me,' he whispered. 'I'm sort of fed up of being pushed around. I'm not saying I've got used my powers or anything and, well, I'm definitely not relishing the thought of taking on Kafka again…but, um, it's time we bought this thing to a close. I suppose what I trying to say is… that, um, at least, more than I've ever been…'

'Come on Nigel, spit it out!'

'Well…I think I'm sort of ready for a scrap.'

'Nigel, that's wonderful news!'

Plutus gave him such a weighty pat on the back that it would have sent him flying had he not fallen into Sydney's delighted embrace. She felt the vibration of his laughter.

'Maybe knowing you're a demigod really is starting to change you?' she asked, the notion evoking mixed feelings

'Don't worry; I'm not that keen on the idea of facing a load of soldiers,' he admitted. 'It's more a 'need's be' sort of thing than a 'Hooray, here we go!'

'That's probably a good thing,' conceded Sydney. 'The world has enough brawny, bloodthirsty idiots!'

Nigel giggled again: 'I'm glad to hear you say that. Still, there will only be the five of us against Kafka and who knows how many!'

'Three of you,' corrected Claudia. 'I'm not going anywhere near that horrid man again… besides, I might break a nail. And, in case you hadn't noticed, Stewie scarpered the moment Tidlius landed.'

'Claudia! Why didn't you say anything?'

'I thought you'd noticed! You normally see everything, Sydney. Besides, I didn't think he was much use to anyone…'

'I needed him to translate the Hexameter! That's so typical of Stewie. I should've guessed when he was so quiet on the flight he was planning something. Now he's gone and vanished just when he was going to be useful for the first time in his life!'

'Second,' corrected Claudia. 'He did save my life the other day!'

'I suppose that was _sort_ of useful', retorted Sydney with a sarcastic grin, which Claudia reciprocated. 'Maybe he'll be back?'

'Don't count on it,' sighed Nigel. 'He's probably on the other side of the island by now…err, what's Tidlius doing?'

The dragon, who had now also captured the attention of Claudia, Plutus and Sydney, was scratching angrily at the top of the steps, smoke billowing out of his dark, green nostrils.

'He knows somebody is down there,' observed Plutus gravely. 'Kafka?'

'Damn!' Sydney ran to the top of the steps. 'There goes our chance of an ambush. We're going to have to creep up on them from behind. It's odd that he posted no guards though.'

She was interrupted by a sudden 'moo' from Tidlius. The dragon flapped his giant wings and plunged off down the cliffs.

'There goes the element of surprise,' groaned Nigel. 'What did he have to do that for?'

But now Plutus was thundering down the steps after him. 'Tidlius isn't stupid,' he yelled. 'It can't be Kafka. It's somebody he knows – come on!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They all followed Plutus down the crumbling steps, with varying degrees of caution, until they reached a craggy platform, jutting out in front of a narrow cave like the forecourt of a crumbling temple.

Perched precariously on a rock at the edge, and now scowling guiltily at the Dragon, was the comely, scantily-clad figure of Christie.

'What the…?'

She looked up as she heard Sydney's exclamation.

'Oh, it's you lot,' observed the blonde moodily. 'I suppose you might as well make yourself useful and help me translate this thing.'

She lifted her large, tatty piece of manuscript from the cliff beside her. It instantly billowed in the wind, resembling a dirty brown sail almost large enough to carry off the nymph like a sky-born ship. It was inscribed with two sets of handwriting, one in neat, carefully constructed black letters, one scrawled in an ominous, almost illegible scarlet.

'My hexameter!' cried Nigel. 'Who's been scribbling all over it in a nasty red ink?'

'That's the blood of the Sybil of Tibertine, remember?' hissed Sydney. 'Christie, where in Gaia's name did you get that?'

'I didn't get it,' snapped Christie. 'The other woman had it. She's gone into the cave to awaken Gaia.'

'Awaken Gaia? But only a true Sybil can do that…' Sydney took a sharp breath as realisation struck her. 'Apart from maybe _one_ other.'

'Who?' asked Nigel.

'I only know of one other born with such a natural affinity with the Gods, who communed with the training: my sister!'

'_Your sister_?'

'She didn't say she was your sister,' jutted in Christie. 'She only told me her name was Cate.'

'_Cate_!' Nigel thrust his hand back through his hair in bewilderment. 'Cate is your…sister! Why didn't you tell me?'

'There's not much to tell,' replied Sydney grimly. 'As I said, I've only met her once and there's been no love passed between us. Now, excuse me while I stop her doing more damage than good - if she ever meant to do any good!'

Her determination blazing hotter than ever, Sydney strode towards the entrance of the cave. She stilled only a moment to glance back at Nigel and offer him a reassuring smile.

'Don't come after me,' she mouthed. 'Find Stewie and get him to translate that thing and keep a watch out for Kafka. I'll be back soon!'

With that, she turned and disappeared into the gloom.

**Thanks for reading and, good gracious, if you're still with me after all this time PLEASE REVIEW! Cheers.**


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimers: as ever.**

**Thanks for those reviews! Much appreciated :)**

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

'Well I didn't see that one coming!' exclaimed Plutus, unusually animated as he watched Sydney disappear into the cave after Cate. 'Oh, for a touch of omniscience! But I suppose life would be even less interesting without its little surprises!'

'Do you think we should go after her?' asked Claudia

'No,' replied Nigel. While frowning to make sense of it all, he was also musing, with a tiny hint of pride, how close he'd come to sleeping with _both_ stunning sisters. 'If Sydney said stay, she means stay. She'll be able to handle Cate and we ought to set out and look for Stewie…'

He broke off as Tidlius started 'mooing' and flapping its wings again. 'What's up with you now?' he asked, slightly irritated. 'Oh…oh no!'

Looking up, Nigel could just make out some heavily-armed soldiers starting down the cliff-front staircase. The colossus who led them was unmistakable: Kafka.

Claudia shrieked and fled into the cave. Christie just vanished, but nobody saw where. Nigel was on the verge of running too when Plutus caught him by the arm.

'No. We must stay here and fight.'

'But…but it's Kafka! I can't! I can't face him!'

'A moment ago you said you were ready to face him. If I recall, your exact words were: 'I think I'm sort of ready for a scrap!''

'Yes, but…but… he wasn't actually here then, and Sydney was! Just the sight of him makes me want to curl up and die… I think…I think I'd _rather_ die than face him again!'

Plutus could sense his friend being overtaken by a crippling fear; placing his hands on both Nigel's shoulders he shook him gently.

'No you wouldn't, you'd rather live. Fate is on our side, Nigel. You're a demigod, and I may not be Sydney, but I'm quite useful in a fight. The whole 'immortal' thing comes in useful for a change.'

'I'm sure it does,' mumbled Nigel. 'But there are dozens of them.'

'We can beat them if we stand together. We're no use to Sydney leading them straight to her. Besides, he has the Branch! This is our chance to take it from him.'

'I know, I know,' moaned Nigel, his legs wobbling like they were made of liquid. But he managed to brace himself: 'I'll do it.'

'Good boy,' grinned Plutus, ruffling Nigel's hair; the flush of embarrassment caused him to nearly forget his fear. 'You never know, it might even be fun. It will, at least, be interesting!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sydney knew the maze of winding passages inside the caves of Gaia as well as she knew the back of her own hand. Even without a torch, she thundered through them with confidence, not even colliding with the jagged sides of the tunnels when they became so narrow she had to squeeze through sideways.

Before long, she reached the cavern where the Sybil's of Camae had communed with Gaia for hundreds of years, asking for her guidance and the meaning of prophecies. Around a dozen newly ignited torches washed light over walls of sparkling crystal and thousands of tiny, glistening waterfalls.

In the middle of all of this, in front of a crude, rocky altar was Cate. She was chanting. Her eyes were shut and she held two laurel branches, folded across her chest. Sydney could tell, from the words she uttered, that the ritual of summoning the Goddess was nearly complete - but that her recitation was clumsy and incomplete.

She sprinted over and grabbed her sister by the arm, spinning her around. 'What are you trying to do, you fool?'

After a moment of surprise, Cate's lips thinned into a calm, collected smile.

'Long time no see, sister! I've been watching you!'

'Likewise, Cate! Is there any dodgy Roman governor you haven't slept with?'

'Is there any disreputable grave robber that _you_ haven't slept with?'

'At least I don't use my gifts to torture people,' spat Sydney. 'Now what in Gaia's name do you think you're doing?'

'I'm going to harbour the power of the Branch for Rome. It's the only way, Sydney. The people of Greece were always divided; they never possessed the same vision and power, or understood the meaning of unity. If we join with them, Nigel and I - and you, if you wish - can stand at the head of the greatest empire this earth has ever known! Think, Sydney, think what we could do! All the world will look to the civilisation of Rome… and to us!'

'What is it with you and Romans?' interrupted Sydney. 'Look, what is going to happen to the Branch isn't for you to decide. It's up to Nigel and Gaia! And, incidentally, you shouldn't be tampering with the ritual! I'm still the only Sybil of Camae.'

'I can summon the Goddesses too, you know?'

'Yes, I know. I've seen your handiwork. What you did to Tulia was low!'

A shadow of guilt drifted across Cate's countenance, but she quashed it quickly: 'Kafka had the Branch and I had to get close to him. Besides, what she told us was valuable: there was no other way to find out in a hurry about the rituals. I had no choice, Sydney.'

Sydney shook her head dispassionately: 'Yes you did. And you do now. You're strong, Cate, but you're not a trained priestess. You get one word of that ritual wrong, who knows what you might summon up!'

'Then I won't get it wrong,' snapped Cate and, without softening her joyless smile, she raised the laurel braches and shouted the last few words of the chant:

'The air shall be disordered, and from the ether;

The grace of the mighty ones shall come upon you…'

Sydney dived to slap her hand over Cate's mouth, but it was too late. Her sister cast away the olive branches and gave a horrific, pulsating scream that reverberated around the chamber like crystal shattering upon granite. Rising wildly to her feet, she tore at her clothes and wrung her hair until it grew untamed and bouffant, like a lion's mane.

'What have you done?' muttered Sydney, not backing away but fixing the woman with a furious glare.

Cate's eyes flew open; they shone like black coals in a fiery furnace. She laughed maniacally.

'You're not Cate, and you're not Gaia,' breathed Sydney. 'That much I know. Who are you?'

'The one Goddess you love to hate, Sydney,' came the guttural reply. 'And I'll thank your sister from summoning my spirit from its bodily torment - once you are very, very dead!'

Before Sydney could even raise her arms in defence, Hera had struck her. The impact blasted her back across the cavern, her head striking with a thud against the rock. She crumpled down into the shallow rock pool, a dazed heap.

It was then that Claudia finally reached the cavern. Her tiny, sandaled feet came to a stricken halt at the sight of her fallen friend.

'She's dead,' said Hera mournfully, her voice emanating from the benign looking body of Cate. She chortled internally as Claudia's terrified little face creased into an aspect of undiluted sorrow.

'My poor, pretty child,' cooed Hera. 'Did you love her? It's such a sad loss, but Gaia tired of her inadequate services.' Claudia gave a horrified cry, and started towards Sydney's body.

'No! Don't take a step closer or she'll kill you too! And seeing your friend will only upset you. The Goddess dashed the wretched woman's brains out on the rocks.'

'Sydney!' wailed Claudia, still stumbling forward and barely able to comprehend the woman's words. The soothsayer stepped in front of her, authoritatively blocking her route.

'Don't go any closer, girl, or your doom will be even worse! Gaia has another job for you: go tell them all. She's dead, dead, DEAD!'

Witless with grief and confusion Claudia nodded mindlessly, turned and ran.

'At least she _will_ be dead soon,' cackled the goddess, as the girl disappeared. But Claudia never heard a thing over her increasingly effusive tears.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Nigel drew his sword tentatively and willingly let Plutus step ahead of him.

Kafka, brandishing a spear as tall and as vicious looking as he was, had paused, letting the first contingent of his men pass him. Sensing the big man's stare boring into him, Nigel could not repress a growing sense of dread. By the time the host of heavily armed soldiers had reached the bottom of the steps, he felt naked and vulnerable, fighting just to control his terror. He never discerned the inkling of fear in his enemy's eye, or the nervously twitching muscle in his fearsome, lantern jaw.

Kafka addressed only Plutus.

'I suggest you let me past. And _that,_'– here he snorted derisively at Nigel – 'is my property.'

While Nigel's instincts still urged him to flee, this bland insistence of his slave-hood ignited a flicker of anger. He gripped even harder on the hilt of his sword.

Plutus regarded Kafka calmly. 'I suggest you turn back, unless you want your men to die.'

Kafka laughed: 'Thirty against one… and that cowardly boy! I think the odds are very much on my side.'

'Thirty against _two_,' corrected Plutus, 'and I wouldn't bet against us! Now, I suggest you hand over the Branch before we take it from you, along with a great deal of your people's blood.'

Kafka's eyebrows arched with genuine surprise. 'What? Is this some sort of trick. The boy has the Branch! Which makes it _my_ property!'

'This is a deception,' whispered Nigel to Plutus. 'Kafka has it, I'm sure!'

Kafka's thoughts were a mirror image of Nigel's but his response was less cautious. Swishing his hooked hand through the air with roar, he spurred his men forward.

'The time for parley is over! Kill the Greek and but don't touch the boy. He's mine!'

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The Goddess Hera could scarcely believe her divine luck.

One moment she'd been imprisoned in a cage of fire, dangling off the precipice of Mount Olympus. The next, some careless amateur Sybil had called out so loudly to the most powerful gods that the whole host had heard her! But nobody had been quite so keen to commune with an Oracle as Hera.

She had instantly possessed the woman's helpless body, not even caring to whom or where she was going. Her fortune, however, had bloomed even more radiantly than she'd dared to hope. How she laughed at her providential luck to find herself a few paces away from her hated nemesis - and then to have so easily rendered her prostrate and helpless.

'Sydney!' she cried, spitting out the name with diabolical contempt. 'The great, fallen Sybil of Camae! The woman who wanted to fight like an equal with the gods! You wanted to settle this like women? Ha! You forget, Sydney: women never fight straight! They strangle their infants, smother their elderly, poison their husbands and stab their friends in the back! The only question that remains is which method should I choose?'

Reaching into Cate's robes, it took little time for her to locate an exquisite, ivory-handled knife.

'So I will shed your blood,' she cackled, 'and, don't worry. The first cut shall _not_ be the deepest.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Plutus went forth to meet Kafka's men with a magnificent, blood-curdling bellow. In addition to an impossibly enormous sword he whipped out a huge axe from under his cloak and set upon them, a searing whirlwind of bludgeoning blades, fists and feet. The first fighters who encountered him fell quickly, most without even landing a blow.

Yet there was many, far too many. While Plutus held fast, the challengers kept coming, and Nigel did little to help. His feet refused to obey his mental strivings towards bravery and he found himself edging ever closer to the rocky precipice behind him.

'I told her I was ready for a scrap?' he muttered to himself. 'I must have lost my mind!'

Nigel found he was breathing hard, barely containing a panic. His tunic stuck to his back, sodden with cold sweat.

Kafka, who was still standing upon the steps waiting for the right moment to reclaim his 'property', smelt his terror and laughed. 'The fawning Goddess's have deserted you now, little one,' he leered, and leapt over the edge of the staircase, landing with a resounding thump.

Plutus didn't even see him; more and more of the enemy were closing in, hacking and slashing around him. If Nigel had even glanced his way, he would have seen that his friend's his tunic was saturated with blood. Increasingly, it was his own.

But he did not. Kafka pervaded Nigel's world, and was stomping avidly towards him; he could barely draw air, let alone fight.

'Oh for goodness's sake, this is the last time! Fight the nasty man!'

'Mother?!'

Nigel swivelled in shock to see the white-haired woman, standing on one of the boulders that lined the edge of the cliff.

'Yes! My darling, I've given you _all_ I ever had. The last of my strength in this world now fails me - must you keep dragging me back like this?'

'I'm… I'm sorry. What should I do?'

'Knock his block off, son!' she screamed, with all the veracity of a proud parent shouting from the sidelines at an Olympian athletics match. 'Come on, Nigel! It's what we've all been waiting for!'

'Um, all right then!'

Swallowing his fear, Nigel turned back to face his daemons.

Kafka was now standing quite still, staring with awe and a little trepidation. He remembered the ethereal, white-haired woman - like he remembered Nigel's unbelievable escape. He knew he couldn't afford a repeat performance.

The spear hurtled past Nigel's ear and smashed straight through his mother's stomach. He gave the distraught cry and fell to his knees – yet his mother stood firm.

'This is the end, darling,' she said calmly. 'The next time we meet, it will be forever in the Summerlands. Goodbye my love. Remember, my power is now yours alone. Use it well!'

Then her frail form tottered backwards and disintegrated into thin air.

'No!' screamed Nigel.

He knew he was crying. He didn't care. But he had heard her, all the same.

_'Remember, the power is now yours alone. Use it well.'_

An unfamiliar passion was brewing inside of him as he clambered his feet, sword in hand. He met Kafka's smirk with an even gaze of burgeoning contempt.

'You want to fight, slave?' boomed Kafka pulling a long, pointed sword from his heavy, studded belt.

This time, the words did not just annoy Nigel. Something inside of him snapped. Hearing the waver in the other man's deep voice, he drank in her aura of Kafka's fear. It fed him, revived him and inspired him.

'Oh yes,' he replied calmly. 'I want to kill you.'

Dread lashed through Kafka's huge form, bringing a desperate impetus to his sword as it whipped down towards his younger opponent. Nigel met the blow with his own. The impact of steel against steel jarred through his much smaller frame but his feet held firm. His knees barely wobbled.

He swished his blade away as the other man reeled in shock, then held it out in front of him with a single hand. Kafka growled and swung again with a ravaging power. This time, however, Nigel's retaliatory block cleaved off the top half of the Roman warriors sword, which plummeted to the floor in a shower of the fluorescent sparks.

'Next time it will be your other hand,' he snarled. 'Ready to die?'

Kafka took a step back. Nigel's eyes were the green of a summer ocean, but simmered with hatred so indomitable he could almost hear it echoing through the ages.

With a quick darting motion, Kafka grabbed a sword from a nearby fallen soldier. Nigel smiled coldly and revelled in the perception of mastery that was now surging through him.

'The dead can't help you now, Kafka.'

'No,' thought Kafka. 'But playing dirty can.'

He dived forward, his blade swerving towards Nigel's bare legs.

Simply as a reflex, Nigel jumped. Unexpectedly soaring high into the air, his jump became a backward somersault and he landed, towering above his rival, on the large boulder where his mother had stood, tottering on the edge of the sheer drop to the ocean.

'Good jump, bad landing place,' muttered Nigel. 'Let's see if I can do that again.'

Forward this time, he looped over Kafka's head, landing before the warrior had even turned around.

'Give me the branch, Kafka! It won't save your life, but maybe it will save your soul!'

'You mean you really don't have it?'

Kafka's next strike lacerated towards him even as he spoke. Nigel dodged out of the way with impossibly quick reactions.

'No I don't! You have it, you liar!'

Nigel hit back, and this time struck his target. His sword cut deep into Kafka's handless arm, bringing forth an explosive splatter of blood. The monster stumbled, but still stood. But Nigel read confusion in his opponents countenance that spoke of more than pain:

'You _really_ don't have it? Then who does?'

Intrigued though he was, Kafka took advantage of his opponent's mental wanderings and swung his weapon with all his might. Nigel missed the chance to block the blow and his instincts only just kicked in time to duck him out of the way. The edge of Kafka's sword nicked his shoulder. It was only a scratch - but enough to _really_ wake him up.

Nigel threw himself upon the ailing giant, who was now bleeding profusely and struck the new sword clean out of his hand. Kafka fell to his knees, giving Nigel the opportunity to at last sock him hard on the jaw.

Kafka reeled again, but did not collapse completely. Thick red blood began to drool from his mouth.

In a last ditch attempt, Kafka reached for his lost weapon. Nigel stamped on his arm, causing him to recoil in pain, and then pointed his sword at his hated enemy's throat.

'It's over Kafka,' panted Nigel. 'And it was almost too easy.'

Kafka laughed dryly, refusing the agony of his wounds. 'You won't kill me. Not like this; not in cold blood. You're too much of a coward - you'll never be a man, always a slave.'

'I'm not a slave!' yelled Nigel, jamming in the tip of his sword so that it pierced the skin of Kafka's neck and brought forth another trickle of scarlet. 'I'm a Prince of the Kingdom of Hedenwulf, Messenger of the Winter Goddess, the DemiGod offspring of Moreana… which, now I think of it, makes me grandson of Gaia herself!'

'Very impressive,' croaked Kafka. 'But if you were a man, I'd already be dead.'

'Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!'

The feminine, high-pitched scream jammed a sensitive chord in Nigel's consciousness. It was Claudia, and she was running out of the cave, her face once again smeared with tears.

'It's Sydney, it's Sydney!' she sobbed, not even noticing the devastation around her. 'She was lying on the ground and the woman said…she was…she was…dead…dead…DEAD!'

Kafka laughed darkly his gaze still fixed upon Nigel. The boy's lips were parted, his skin ashen; he was stupefied with loathing. The tip of his sword had already drooped from the warrior's throat.

'See, I told you I'd win,' he sneered. 'My men got to her first! And I gave them express instructions to desecrate her dying body - just as I will violate yours!'

In the blink of an eye, Kafka pulled the dagger from his belt and thrust it straight towards Nigel's heart. It never hit home.

The first blow of Plutus's axe severed Kafka's last remaining hand. Before the streaming blood had even reached the floor, the second swipe had reaped away the renegade Roman's head.

Plutus puffed out his cheeks exhaustedly, and looked down at Nigel. His young companion stood motionless, his blade still drooping limply towards where Kafka's chest had previously been.

'Err, Nigel, are you all right? We need to help Sydney… its only hearsay, I'm sure she's not dead. I can feel it…err, Nigel?'

Plutus's brows creased with concern as he realised that Nigel had not heard him. Peering anxiously into his friend's face, concern nevertheless turned to horror as he realised that what had been set in motion could not be stopped.

Nigel's eyes had transformed into an inferno of green-blue fire, his skin was white as snow. He was trembling violently, but then so was the ground beneath them. In an instant, the shaking spread to the whole, vast cliff-face.

Nigel clenched his fists, even as Plutus threw himself protectively on top of the hysterical Claudia.

And then, Nigel screamed.

Flames shot through the air, brimstone hurtled to the stars, the atmosphere filled with smoke and dust, and fine cracks began ripping through the rocks.

Across the Mediterranean, each smoking mountain, from Camae to Olympus, exploded as one. The sun flashed red then went black.

The earth wracked with Nigel's sorrow, its surface awash with fire and ash. Before he stopped screaming, a ravine had opened up right across the heart of the Appernine Peninsular. A barrage of light and dust rained over village, town and city and the garden of the Tree of Life was swallowed by the land itself, disappearing forever.

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimers: As before. This chapter also includes derivations and quotes from Milton S. Terry's translation of 'The Sibylline Oracles', Book XII, and, uh, the musical 'Chess' by Tim Rice and those funny chaps out of Abba.**

**Thanks for those reviews! Much appreciated :)**

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Inside the cave, Sydney stirred suddenly, a strange gauze of brightness smothering her vision. Nevertheless, her other senses were acutely sharpened.

She knew that Hera was approaching. Sydney could hear the goddess's long fingers rustling against the smooth, handle of the knife. Its blade glinted in her consciousness. She instantly knew the perceptions were not her own; two had become one.

'Gaia, Goddess of the Earth,' muttered Sydney, 'you're going to have to forgive me for saying this, but it's about time you showed up! But thanks for dispensing with all the chanting - it is a bit of an emergency!'

Her vision cleared as she rolled over and sat up. She could see Hera, in the body of Cate, standing a little way off.

But rather then plunging in for the kill, Hera's form was rigid. Zeus's wife also understood that two great passions were about to clash, and the consequent tidal wave could propel her straight back to her torment on Olympus.

'Gaia?' she asked, her voice a nervous hiss.

Sydney rose very deliberately to her feet, brushing down her clothes. 'Yes…and no! You see, Gaia's the sharing sort, at least when she turns up. She helps with my problems, I help with hers. And, you know, she still owes me a few favours…'

'Favours? What can a mortal woman do for a Goddess?'

Sydney raised her eyebrows. 'A surprising question from somebody who is well aware there is much a mortal man can give! But - get this, Hera! Gaia has, uh, loaned me some of her powers but _this,_'she pointed with two thumbs to her chest, 'is still me.'

'So I am not afraid!' Hera's fingers tightened around the knife.

'Yes you are!' growled Sydney. 'I'm _more_ than your equal – I would have been before if you'd given me a chance! So, seeing as we couldn't settle this like women, let's settle it like goddesses!'

Hera laughed: 'If you weren't such a mortal, you'd know that the two are much the same.'

'Bitch fight, then?' snarled Sydney.

'Yes, time for that bitch fight – to end them all!'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With a fervent holler, Sydney shot an unexpected high kick that sent the knife spinning from Hera's hand. Then she launched herself at her.

Hera leapt too; they clashed in midair, the Goddess using Cate's long fingernails to scratch at Sydney eyes and hair.

Sydney's elbow impacted with her opponent's stomach; her fist smashed into Hera's jaw at the instant their entwined bodies smashed back to the cave floor.

They grappled in a writhing clinch of hatred, rolling across the ground with hands clasping at throats, teeth ripping at clothes and flesh. But it was Sydney who ended up on top, with a stranglehold on her rival's neck - and at a slight loss at what to do next.

She was very conscious that Hera could not be killed – the only mortal danger would be to Cate. Her greatest hope was that Hera would give in, and Gaia would have the power to send her spirit back to Mount Olympus without the need for lengthy ritual and chanting!

'Do you surrender?' she demanded. 'Return to Olympus. Your time here is over!'

'Never,' spat Hera. 'I won't! It's just so dull there!'

'Yes, dull without mortals to treat as your playthings, and without their pain to laugh at.'

'That was my prerogative! My power was given to me by the sanction of Mother Earth at my wedding!'

'Yes, with the gift of the Golden Apples! Gaia now takes that away. The age of Olympus has passed!'

'Then Gaia's power fades too!'

Sydney laughed, but the noisy echoes of mirth that reverberated around the cave were those of the Earth Goddess: 'Gaia never wielded that kind of earthly power. She merely gives it - and takes it. Now she passes her blessings on, with the Branch of Life.'

'To Nigel?' cackled Hera, 'that's ridiculous! I mean, he's a sweetie but he wouldn't even know which end to hold it!'

'You'd be surprised,' winked Sydney. 'Now go back to your husband you…uh, what was it? Oh yes, you SCARAB-RIDDEN OLD HAG!'

It was then that Sydney caught sight of the pack of yellow eyes, searing into the peripheries of her vision. The momentary distraction was enough for Hera to execute a rather nifty head-butt, momentarily dazing Sydney, and to wrench herself free.

'Is that the best you can do?' seethed Sydney, rubbing her forehead. 'Round one of the clash of unworldly beasties went to me, if I recall. And I'm ready for the rematch!'

She clicked her fingers, and Scorpio's black, shiny pincers loomed out of a side passage.

'One day, this is going to be cliché… but, anything you can do, I can do better!'

Hera merely watched calmly as Scorpio charged at the Leucrocotae, chasing them off down a narrowing cavern to a cacophony of shrieks, splintering bones and the sickening squelch of jetting blood.

'No, that was just the distraction,' she replied, revelling in the sight of her servants' blood. '_This_ is the best I can do!'

She held out her hand, revealing a ball of fizzing white flame, around the size of a human head.

'The flame of Hephaestus! One breathes on this and whole cave becomes an inferno. The bodies of Sydney and her sister will perish, and I am released to wander the Earth as a spirit forever, doing whatever I desirel!'

Sydney cringed; the Earth Goddess was not shouting an instant solution in her ears to this one. 'Uh, but what fun would you have without a body?'

'I can take another one, at will. And, don't worry, I _will_ make love to Nigel, and have him beg for more… before I watch him slowly die!'

'You bitch!' spat Sydney, sprinting over - but even she was too slow. The goddess leant forward, her licks puckered up for the fatal blow.

But instead, she crumpled forward to the floor, the flame evaporating into dark space. Behind her, carrying a large and familiar looking branch was…

'Stewie!? What in Gaia's name…err, thanks?'

'Any time,' grinned Stewie. 'Hey, look what I've got!'

He waved the 'stick' with which he had bashed Hera over the head. Recognising it, Sydney gasped and grabbed it.

'The Branch!!! How…uh, how long have you had this?'

'Oh, not long. I sort of found it lying about behind a rock, but not until after I'd seen that Christie chickie with it!' He added as an afterthought: 'I, uh, was going to give it to you, naturally.'

'Christie…how the...!? Oh, hold on!' Sydney shut her eyes, raising her hand to her brow. 'Seriously, Stewie, don't go anywhere this time or you'll regret it. Gaia has _finally_ found something to say!'

Having also noticed that Hera was stirring, Sydney began to chant. A scintillating power swept through her; from her eyes and fingertips shot beams of light the shade of boiling honey. The rays honed in on Hera, weaving around her like a net.

While Cate's form remained quite still, Hera's anguished screams pierced through the cold, heavy atmosphere of the cave as her essence was tortuously sucked from its mortal frame and condemned to its fate.

When the labourious process finally ended, Sydney flopped to her hands and knees, momentarily exhausted. But there was no reassuring silence.

Stewie's impressed quips were drowned out by an ever-growing rumbling as the ground began to shake.

'What the…?'

But Gaia had gone and the goddess's voice was no longer in Sydney's head. Any power she possessed was simply her own, and Sydney realised it was going to take more than her usual determination to keep the ceiling up for long.

'Did you start this row?' shouted Stewie as Sydney hoisted Cate over her shoulder.

'I can't tell for sure!' yelled back Sydney, 'But I don't think so!'

There was little time for conjecture. As the rocks began pouring down around them, they started to run.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sydney could hear Nigel screaming as she sped through the cave, dodging falling debris, a task made little easier by the burden on her back.

The noise was partially a comfort. At least she could be sure that he was alive! Nevertheless, she now guessed it was him who was causing the earthquakes and hated to think what had caused such a reaction - although she did have an optimistic hunch that her presence might do something to rectify the problem.

'That's a lot of pent-up emotion,' she panted to herself. 'He's going to have to learn to talk about these things before he kills us all!'

Flinging herself and Cate narrowly out of the way of a plummeting stalactite, she gritted her teeth and hurried onwards.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Sydney reached the mouth of the cave, she was greeted with the scene worthy of an apocalypse.

Portentous grey clouds streaked across the sky; the horizon gleamed with red flames. The sea had transformed into a tumult of billowing black waves, which crashed against the bottom of the cliffs and tossed salty droplets high into the air. The sea spray caught in a tepid wind, which blasted against her face, reeking of ash and burning vegetation.

Several dozen men lay dead upon the plateau, including the horribly mutilated body of Kafka. Claudia, to her relief, was crouched in a corner, her arms clinging over her head. Christie, too, could be just about spotted, peeping out curiously from behind a rock.

In the midst of it all, though, was Nigel. His eyes were closed, his face was now flushed, and he was still yelling far louder than could ever be mortally possible.

Plutus had his arms braced around him, his face scrunched against the intensity of the noise. The minor God was obviously trying to calm him - but to no avail.

With Plutus saw Sydney he began to shake Nigel, trying to wake him from his stupor.

'She's alive, she's alive! Look!'

'Nigel! It's me!' shouted Sydney. She entrusted Cate to Stewie and began to pick her way over between the bodies. But his glazed eyes still saw nothing. He was too far lost in his passions.

'You've got to slap him,' yelled Sydney. 'Before he destroys the world or something!'

Plutus nodded and, with an apologetic wince, whacked Nigel across the back of his head.

This finally silenced him, and he crumpled into Plutus's arms with a low moan.

'I should probably have thought of that earlier,' admitted Plutus, as Sydney dashed over. She patted Nigel gently on the side of the cheek and, after a few moments, he opened his eyes.

'Sydney?' he croaked. 'How…what…err… what happened? Oh…oh, hell! I thought you were dead…and…and…'

Nigel flopped back with his head against Plutus' chest. He groaned piteously as he began to comprehend what he had just done.

'_The tide will rise over cliffs and the land;_ _and sun-blessed yields will crumble to dust and dry sand… _I just brought about the prophecy, didn't I?'

'Uh, you certainly might have accidentally destroyed the island,' admitted Sydney. 'I think the Smoking Mountain went up… and there was a little bit of an earthquake. Thank Gaia there doesn't seem to be anybody left living here.'

'Oh my Goddess!' squealed Claudia. 'Nigel just exploded Camae - just like Papa said he would!'

'I'm so sorry,' cringed Nigel, sweeping his fingers back through his hair in an anguish of regret. 'I was just…just so angry. Kafka said Sydney was dying and that his men would… I couldn't bear it! I could feel the power surging within me, but I just didn't come little control it…and…and…'

Plutus released Nigel so that he could fall forward into Sydney's embrace. 'It wasn't your fault,' she breathed.

'I don't know,' he whispered. 'And if that part of the property has come about, what of the rest of it? Of the doom and of the destruction of my people? Surely now it is _all_ bound to come true?'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It took some time for even Sydney and Nigel to get their heads around exactly what had happened - and how, all of a sudden, everything had unexpectedly fallen into place, just as the world around them catastrophically disintegrated.

Cate, from what they could discern from Christie's reluctant admissions, had taken the remaining half of the Hexameter the night she left Kafka's camp with Nigel. She'd had it all the time they were together and never uttered a word.

Even more surprisingly, despite everyone's assumption, the branch had never been in Kafka's possession at all. The conniving Christie had made the reluctant but doting Tidlius retrace Nigel's flight as soon as the dragon had returned from dropping him off at the far side of the camp. She'd scarcely believed her luck when she stumbled across the branch right where the dragon landed and now maintained she'd been doing everybody a favour keeping it out of Kafka's paws! Then Cate had turned up to make her the offer she couldn't refuse - without even knowing the Branch was in the blonde's possession. Christie kept to herself her quiet plan that one day she'd hoped to find a way to channel its powers to make a nymph a Goddess!

'You have no idea what you were dicing with,' snapped Sydney, although the surly Hesperide looked as unbothered as ever, and responded only with a snarl.

'No wonder Tidlius was angry with you,' added Nigel. 'You took advantage of his good nature - if only he could talk!'

Tidlius had flown up to the edge of the cliff as the others had climbed the now even more precarious staircase to the top of the cliff by the Temple – or, at least, its ruins. Now perched on the charred stump of what was once a proud, Grecian column, he mooed, flapped his wings and puffed out a large cloud of smoke at Christie, making her cough. He obviously agreed with Nigel!

Moreover, as Stewie translated the remaining parts of the prophecy, it came clear that Nigel had been right: the doom prophesied by the Sybil of Tibertine had come to pass because of his doings - albeit, quite unintentionally.

Indeed, much of the role of the Messenger of the Winter Goddess in the prophecy was extremely disturbing. Passage after passage told of the war and calamities that must inevitably come about by his hand:

_And then again a dreadful lord shall rule,  
Young, fighting hand to hand, life-destroying, fierce,  
Who to the army basely shall betray  
The people of Rome, slain by wickedness  
Because of wrath of kings;_

_He shall Destroy every city and hut of the Latins.  
And Rome is no more to be seen or heard,  
Such as of late another traveler saw;  
For all these things shall in the ashes lie,  
Nor shall there be a sparing of her works;_

_Trusting in his own might, thick-haired and grim,  
He shall destroy all, from the sky shall send  
Lightnings and thunderbolts upon mankind…_

'This is horrific!' exclaimed Nigel, stopping Stewie in mid-translation. 'I mean, I'm no lover of Rome – but to destroy _every city and hut_? Must it really come to that?'

'Not necessarily,' said Sydney, but she too was deeply uneasy. 'Damn. I wish I could ask Gaia what it meant.'

'It seems clear enough to me,' mumbled Nigel.

The confusion was such that Cate, who was still lying in the care of Plutus and Claudia, began to stir.

'Ugh! What happened?' She sat up slowly, her hand pressed to her throbbing forehead.

'Hallo sister,' said Sydney, hurrying over. 'How do you feel?'

'Awful… the incantation! What went wrong?'

'Uh, I'm afraid I was right,' said Sydney, her tone not unkind, as she crouched down at her side. 'You got it slightly wrong…well, actually, you screwed it up completely and got your body possessed by the Goddess Hera. Next time, leave the communion to the professionals, right?'

Cate frowned, her head still pounding too painfully to respond. Then she caught sight of Nigel, hovering uncertainly behind Sydney, and her eyes brightened like a pair of swiftly ignited oil lamps.

'Nigel! You're here! You're alive…' She grinned, slightly embarrassed, running her fingers over her brow. 'Well, of course you are. I knew you'd get through.'

He offered her a lopsided smile: 'Hallo Cate. Um, err…I hope your head isn't too bad?'

'It's been better!' She laughed quietly - but Sydney caught whiff of the flirtatious undertones instantly. She glanced back at Nigel. He wasn't going to take the bait - surely?

He chewed his lip awkwardly - and then his features hardened. Sydney breathed a sigh of relief and wondered why she worried: he loved her, she knew it. But there was still _something _between him and Cate that made her uneasy.

He too knelt down by Cate's side. 'Why didn't you tell me about the Hexameter?'

'I… I didn't think it would help then. You were so nervous, still getting used to your powers…oh!' Catching sight of the branch, now guarded by a slightly twitchy-fingered Stewie, she sat bolt upright in a sudden rush of excitement.

'Take it, Nigel,' she cried, 'Take it and sweep the world before you! You were magnificent that night at the camp, and you will have mastery over all your power soon - if not already!'

'Mastery?' squeaked Nigel. 'For Moreana's sake - sorry, Mama! - look around you! See that smoke in the sky? That was me! Look at the Temple, the crumbling walls of the city - all of the wooden structures have probably been levelled! Master my powers? I don't know where to start!'

'You will,' she urged, with the determined fire also characteristic of her sister. 'You must! That's why I was trying to summon Gaia - to ask what was best for you, while you couldn't work it out yourself! Nigel, all you have to do is believe! Let me – or Sydney, it matters not who - return to the cave with you and finish the ritual!'

'Huh?' Sydney could hardly believe her sister's gall. 'Look, it can't be done! Nigel can no longer make the offering as laid down in the hexameter because the entrance to the cave was completely buried in the earthquake.'

'Oh…'

'And, believe me, Gaia has nothing more to say on the topic.' Turning back to Nigel she added: 'the decision is now entirely in your hands.'

Nigel nodded slowly, walked over to the branch and picked it up.

'Alright, let me get this clear. Gaia passes on the branch of the Tree of Life, to me, son of Winter Goddess, at the death of the age of the Olympus. This time, then, is the dawn of the era of Men – yet though this Branch, I alone take on the power of the gods into this new age and thereby trigger the greatest war the world has ever known!'

'No!' Cate scrambled to her feet. 'You're reading the text wrong! It will only be destructive if you stand _against_ Rome! Take the branch to the Senate and offer an alliance and you will lay the foundations of an empire which could stand for thousands of years. And I have sway with many of the senators…'

'No doubt you do!' interjected Sydney. 'But no way! Rome is a tyrant, and if you're going to wield the power of the branch, Nigel, you should do it against them. It's the only way they'll be defeated. If we have to fight… we fight.'

Nigel gazed at her, deeply apprehensive. 'Is that _really_ what you want me to do?'

Shutting her eyes, Sydney's mind filled with visions of brutality and death, the image of colossal armies savaging each other to oblivion, of burning villages, crying children and seas foaming with blood. 'No,' she breathed, 'I don't. I just can't bear the thought of the Roman legions marching across the entire world, laying waste to all who stand against them - because of _us_.'

'But…'

Sydney shot her sister such a vitriolic glare that she instantly fell quiet.

'It's up to you, Nigel,' she said quietly. 'And even if you do choose to go to Rome, I'll stand by you. It'll be hard for me… but I'll do it.'

Nigel ran his fingers over the gold-threaded bark of the branch. 'I appreciate that - but I wouldn't take the branch to Rome even if Gaia herself commanded me to. Not even for my mother.' He smiled warmly as his gaze drifted back to Sydney. 'Not even for you.'

Sydney beamed back: 'It's a good job I don't want you to, then!'

'You'll start a war,' stated Cate plainly. 'Thousands of people will die!'

'No I won't, that's the last thing I want.'

By now, even Stewie was scratching his head perplexedly. 'But you can't just do nothing with it! Believe me, however hard you try to guard it, somebody is going to get their hands on that baby! Hell, give _me _half a chance, and I'd be selling souvenir chunks all the way from Germania to Persia!'

'I have no doubt,' chortled Sydney. 'But he does have a point. We're going to have to think about this one really carefully.'

'No we don't,' said Nigel softly. 'My mind is already made up. Plutus, do you think that Tidlius would mind giving me another ride?'

Sydney and Cate both looked confounded, but Plutus beamed widely, displaying an impressive array of spotless white teeth.

'The dragon will consider it an honour - and your mother would be proud of you, as am I.' Plutus loped over and gave Nigel a sturdy pat on the back, and was rewarded with a modest smile. 'Just make sure he doesn't swoop too low over the crater – Tidlius loves fire, but I don't want _you _getting toasted!'

Suddenly, Sydney understood and her jaw dropped: 'Nigel! You're going to fly over the volcano and… destroy the branch!'

'Yes, I am. If the Age of Men is upon us, the last thing the world needs is a man with the power of the Gods. There are enough tyrants in this world already!'

'But it's _you_!' cried Cate. 'You'll be a great emperor, I'm sure of it! The most powerful and just ruler the people have ever known…and…and, when I saw you fight, you stole my heart… I'll never forget it! Nigel, I'm in love with that warrior!'

Nigel met her pleading gaze steadily but with the tiniest hint of guilt: 'Then I'm sorry Cate, but you're not in love with me. And I'm… I'm not in love with you.'

She accepted this silently and backed away, even as Sydney caught Nigel's hand and pulled him to her. 'You are sure about this?'

'I've never been more certain about anything in my life. Military power breeds some good men, but also men like Kafka – and there's still too many of those in the world, even with one dead! Besides, I grew up part of a royal house. I watched the pressures of power wear down my uncle until he was a cold, hard frazzle of a man - while hunger for the same made my brother grow cruel and twisted. I never wanted a bit of it. All I ever wanted…'

Sydney burst in to laughter, shocking him into silence, before picking up his little speech: 'I know this bit: All you ever wanted was to find a nice quiet library to study the great texts, maybe to teach a little…'

'That's right,' he laughed. 'And even with my powers, I'm no great Warrior, am I, Plutus? Without you I'd be dead.'

'You underestimate your ingenuity,' shrugged his big friend. 'But you certainly need to work on your concentration. Maybe it isn't your greatest talent - but it's a dull pastime, anyway.'

'I quite agree!' Nigel slung the branch into the shield halter on his back. As if sensing the time had come, Tidlius jumped down from his perch with a thud.

Nigel offered his hand to Sydney: 'Coming?'

She hesitated just a moment - but not through indecision. She savoured the sight as sunlight suddenly washed over Nigel's face, striking, crepuscular beams radiating from a tiny opening in the leaden, smoke-filled sky. The rays shone golden upon his hair, kindled the glint of emerald in his eyes, and sparkled over the smooth skin of his shoulders, the lustrous contours of the armour on his chest.

'You… you don't have to come…'

'Nothing in the world would stop me!'

Without another question, Sydney took his hand and even let him help her onto the dragon as if she was a princess, before he climbed up in front of her. He was about to urge the dragon up and away, when Cate suddenly ran over, grabbing his arm.

'You can't do this, Nigel! You can't throw away the chance to conquer every land under the sun!'

'It's my decision,' said Nigel placidly. 'And it's made!'

'Sydney, then! If you love him, surely you can't let him pass this over!'

Sydney wrinkled her nose with casual contempt: 'Nah. It's not really very Nigel, is it? You see, unlike you, I love him the way he really is!' She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. 'I'm ready to go.'

Nigel patted Tidlius's neck: 'Come on, old boy. Let's get this over with!'

Tidlius mooed delightedly and cracked open his giant wings and soared into the air.

'Hey, uh, you couldn't just save me a few of those golden threads, could you?' yelled Stewie, while Plutus and Claudia cheered and waved. Christie tossed her yellow hair and muttered 'stupid mortals', while Cate watched in subdued silence.

'You're quite sure about this?' asked Sydney jokily, as they saw towards the black and orange abyss of the smoking mounting. 'A crown would look good on you?'

When he glanced back over his shoulder to her, his countenance was deadly serious: 'Why would I want an empire? Where would I start? Let man's selfish kingdom's tear themselves apart; my land's only border's lie around my heart!'

He paused, shifting so his lips eased towards hers, teetering on the verge of the inevitable kiss.

'That's one of the many reasons I love you, Nigel.'

His thumb dusted her cheekbone: 'I love you too… you're all I really ever wanted.'

The volcano burned like a furnace around them as the dragon veered dangerously low, but Sydney barely noticed. His kiss, once again, sent her soul soaring high above the explosion of sparks and ashes.

'This is it,' thought Nigel vacantly, his body suddenly weightless, his only consciousness being of a strange sense of floating and of their beings entwined as one. 'This is the Summerlands.'

Without pulling away from the kiss, he reached behind him and cast the Branch from the Tree of Life into the flames, even as the cruel, blazing limbs reached up to snatch it.

**Thanks for reading. Please Review.**


	24. Epilogue

**Disclaimers: as before.**

**Thanks for those reviews.**

**I'm not sure that this chapter was strictly necessary – so, sorry if you preferred the ending in the last chapter, I guess this chapter is optional! However, it did give me a chance to incorporate some lovely ideas given to me by Ivoryrose – thanks :) **

EPILOGUE

'That was…'

'amazing!' breathed Sydney.

'I was going to say 'close', admitted Nigel. 'I mean, as much as I enjoyed the kiss I was a little worried there that we were going to fall.'

'I wasn't!' Sydney snuggled up close behind him, her chin nestled on his shoulder. 'I knew the dragon wouldn't let me go… and I knew that you wouldn't either.'

Nigel gave a surprised laugh: 'You have a lot more faith in me than I do!'

'It's not misplaced - besides, I had no choice. The only time I lose my own sense of balance is when you kiss me!'

'Now you know how I feel when you make me go flying about on dragons all the time!'

Hearing this, Tidlius 'mooed' and jerked his tale from side to side.

'Oh, no offence,' apologized Nigel, patting the dragon on his scaly, green neck. 'I never really thought you'd drop us in the smoking mountain. Even if we did get pretty close to those flames…'

The dragon 'mooed' again, but this time sounded appeased.

'See,' said Sydney, 'you pilot the dragon like an experienced sailor on his ship.'

'I'm not doing anything but holding on!'

'That can be the hardest part,' she replied, rubbing his arm affectionately. 'Err, talking of holding on, you don't regret it? Now that you've actually thrown the branch away?'

Nigel was silent a moment, then he glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes smouldering with sincerity. 'I will never regret it. Not for a single heartbeat.'

The dragon was now wafting back towards the temple, and Nigel could make out a couple of miniature figures standing near the ruins. It was clear who they were – Claudia and Plutus. One was a _lot_ tinier than the other.

'We're nearly back,' he observed. 'But where do we go from here?'

'I have no idea!'

'I…I'm going to have to go home,' sighed Nigel. 'I owe my aunt an explanation at the very least, and she will have been so worried about me. She promised to say a prayer for me every day, to Moreana… I mean my mother!'

Sydney couldn't help laughing, and Nigel joined her. 'It seems strange: the deity I've worshipped all my life has turned out to be…well... family!' His features softened regretfully. 'I'll miss her. I wish I'd known how much she meant to me, before her time was over.'

'Maybe she'll find a way to speak to you again one day?'

'I don't think so. Not this time.'

Sydney held him tight, absorbing the quaver of emotion in his chest. 'Then she will always be in your heart…I mean, your mother obviously loved you so much! She always kept you safe, and was nothing less than bountiful in her legacy, giving you the proper powers of a demigod. It's quite a contrast to _my_ mother, who barely takes the time to listen to me unless I've got the incantation right or the world is descending around my ears… but I guess sweet Mama has got a lot of children to look after!'

'What you mean?' Nigel turned sharply to look at her again. 'I assumed you didn't know who your mother was!'

'Ah, these Gods and Goddesses,' sighed Sydney, wiggling her eyebrows mysteriously. 'They never could control their urges. It's probably all for the best that their time has passed before half the world was made up of their offspring!'

Nigel's jaw dropped: 'you're not saying…'

'I'm not saying anything!' she laughed.

Nigel stared ahead in confounded silent as the dragon swooped towards the clifftop. He could feel Sydney's warm curves pressed into his back, vibrating with giggles.

'You do realise that means…um, we're related? And – typical – that seeing as your mother, err, created mine, you _still_ pull rank on me?' He shook his head, stupefied. 'Whatever next?'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Claudia and Plutus greeted Nigel and Sydney with smiles and cheers - but the others were conspicuous by their absence.

'Where did they go?' asked Sydney.

'Ah,' began Plutus slowly. 'Stewie took a little stroll - he said he'd be back.'

'Hmph. I'll believe that what I see it! How about the others?'

'Christie and Cate have gone down to the harbour to see if any of the boats survived Nigel's little…tantrum. Of course, Christie asked Tidlius before he left with you to take them to the mainland - but it seems she's pushed even his good nature too far! They took the Hexameter, though.'

'Why?' queried Sydney. 'It can't be much use to anybody now.'

'No,' yawned Plutus. 'That's why I let them take it. No doubt they thought they could squeeze something out of it to give them power, or whatever it is they seek.'

'Better hairstyles?' suggested Claudia.

'There was no fashion advice in the Hexameter, Claudia,' huffed Nigel. 'I hope they take care of it! It _was_ mine and I would have quite liked to take it home with me… although maybe, after all the trouble it's caused, I'm not _that_ bothered about seeing the back of it.'

'I can't say I wish them luck,' shrugged Sydney. 'But they're welcome to each other's company.'

'They'll probably have scratched his other's eyes out before the week is out,' interjected Claudia, swiping her hand like the claw of a cat: 'Meow!'

Sydney laughed out loud, but there was one serious question that was still bothering her.

'What are _you_ going to do now, Claudia?'

'Stay with you!' Claudia's glistening blue eyes widened pleadingly. 'Aren't I?'

'I'm not sure you'll want to come where I'm going,' she replied with a guilty grimace. 'I'm going home with Nigel, to his kingdom in the North.'

'You are?' Nigel flung his arms around her neck. 'Oh… I'm so glad! Thank you, thank you, thank you!' Catching sight of Claudia's distraught little face, however, he drew away awkwardly. 'But… I can't let you do it. It really is too much to ask of anyone.'

'You _didn't_ ask me,' pointed out Sydney. 'And my mind is made up, so there'll be no arguments.'

She turned back to Claudia. 'You _can_ come with us, if you want.'

'Um, no thanks!' Claudia wrinkled her nose. 'I've heard plenty of stuff about the North, and none of it is good. It's cold and muddy and apparently they have houses made of poo!'

'There is no better form of insulation than good, healthy dung,' retorted Nigel indignantly.

'Maybe not, honey, but I'd rather freeze! And how can I look good under six layers of animal skin – yuck! Besides, I've got a date tomorrow night, back in Neapolis with this totally gorgeous guardsman!'

'You're not serious?'

'Yes! Unless…' She fluttered her eyelashes up towards Plutus. 'Unless I get a better offer?'

Sydney felt like ripping her hair out. Claudia might have learnt a few small lessons, but she would walk into trouble again in no time without Sydney to watch her back.

'I'll be all right,' chirped Claudia, as if reading Sydney's mind. 'My papa will take care of me - apparently, he's now negotiating a uni…um…unilatery…'

'un-i-lat-er-al?' offered Nigel helpfully.

'Yes, one of those: a unilateral treaty with Rome…on behalf of the people of Neapolis. He says it will bring greatness to the province, they've granted him citizenship and he has already been elected to the senate!'

Despite her dislike of Claudia's conniving 'Papa', this idea afforded Sydney a superficial wave of relief. Maybe Citizen Agaue would take care of his daughter? But then, he _had_ nearly married her to Kafka!

'I… I don't know…'

Nigel placed a gentle hand on her arm, tugging her side: 'You'd better stay, Sydney. I can't ask you to come with me and leave Claudia all alone. It just wouldn't be right and I'd feel absolutely terrible… '

His spiel was interrupted as Plutus yawned widely and stretched his trunk-like arms out behind him. 'You know,' he sighed. 'I think I might stay around this way. And, although I'm not about to spoil her date tomorrow night, I'd be very honoured if Miss Claudia would allow me to be her friend.'

'Oooooooh!' Claudia dashed over and began running her hands over his muscular chest. 'Friends is good… to start with!'

Plutus threw Sydney a meaningful wink.

'Thank you,' she gushed. 'Thank you so much! You don't know what this means to me!'

'It's a pleasure,' replied the big immortal, almost animatedly. 'In all my years, I've never met anyone like Claudia. I really find her most interesting!'

'You've not had the tour of her wardrobe yet,' cringed Nigel. 'Believe me, you'll change your mind then. It goes on for days… Good Gods! What's that?'

Nigel pointed in astonishment at something that looked like an enormous, bulging sack floating through the ruins of the temple without any apparent support.

'I'll tell you what _that_ is!' growled Sydney, and sprinted towards the fleeing bundle. There was a small cry of alarm, and the phenomena started bobbing unsteadily in the opposite direction. Then there was a soft thump and the sack tumbled to the ground shedding a stunning array of gold and bronze statuettes, silver cups and plates, and a variety of multi-coloured jewels all over the rubble.

Besides them, rolled Stewie, who had dropped his invisibility cloak in the process.

'Err, hey Sydney! I, um, I thought I'd better get this lot to somewhere safe.'

'Yes, I bet you did! You'll never be anything but a conman thief, Stewie!'

Stewie grinned peevishly. 'Yes, a conman thief who saved your life - and that of your pretty little assistant.'

'And you'll never let me forget that, will you?' groaned Sydney.

'Uh… maybe. If you let me keep some of these babies!'

'No way! They belong to the temple and the people of Camae!'

Stewie cast his eyes skeptically over the ruins around him: 'Uh… what temple? And what people?'

'That's not the point!'

Nevertheless, even if she spoke, Sydney knew there was some truth in his irritating sentiments. The whole island was now in ruins, she was leaving and it was doubtful that anybody would ever return to live there. She couldn't take the relics with her. Yet she couldn't leave the treasures of the temple at the mercy of whichever thieves and pirates chose to take them…

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

'I can't believe you're doing this,' moaned Stewie, as Sydney emerged from the ruins of her garden with her beloved statue of the prophetess Caśntra. She handed it to Plutus, who placed it carefully in the top of a large wooden chest, and began to pile the fallen rubble of the temple on top of it.

'It's the only way. These objects are too important to be destroyed, but the era of the Gods is over and in a few generations they would be melted down as nothing but scrap. But maybe, many years into the future, people will learn to appreciate them again. They'll be all that was left to tell the stories of a long forgotten age.'

'You're too much of an optimist then,' grunted Stewie. 'I expect these far-flung peoples will just want to sell them to!'

'Maybe…but I've got to believe that somebody will one day appreciate their value. Alongside all those future Stewies, I hope there will be a future Nigel!' She smiled affectionately over at the man she loved.

'Well I hope there will also be a Sydney,' he beamed back. 'And let's hope that their paths will always cross.'

'Sometimes I wish they wouldn't,' grumbled Stewie, as Plutus placed the final enormous boulder over the hidden treasures and stepped away.

'No mortal man will be able to lift that!' he stated proudly.

Claudia threw her arms around his waist: 'You're so strong!'

Plutus grinned down at her, then across at Nigel, who laughed as he shook his head: 'I hope you know what you've taken on!'

The shadows were growing long by the time Nigel looked to the west, shading his eyes against the striking pink sunset.

'I think we'd better get going, Sydney. The sun is falling fast.'

Sydney took a last, sad glance at the rubble of the temple, and nodded sadly. 'You're right. It's definitely time to go.'

Neither Sydney nor Claudia could contain their tears as they gave each other a final hug. 'I'll miss you,' sobbed Claudia.

'Me too, but we will come back to visit, I promise!'

'Of course we will,' reassured Nigel, as he took the petite blonde in his arms. 'When I've seen my aunt, it's only fair that we should go to Delphi and visit Sydney's father and then…well, if Tidlius is willing, this will be our first port of call. Of course, will have to take him back to Erry and Arry eventually.'

'I wouldn't worry too much about them,' interjected Plutus placidly. 'Tidlius belongs to who he wants to belong to, and I think he might have switched his loyalties.'

'You'd better come back,' sniffed Claudia. 'Or I'll make Plutus take me up to the Land of Mud and Dung and teach you all how to dress properly!'

'Now there's a threat,' laughed Nigel. 'But I'm sure a few of my local girls could teach you a thing or two about wearing blue wode!'

'Blue what?' blinked Claudia. 'Blue looks good on me! Is it a sort of silk?'

'It certainly would look good on you!' sniggered Nigel.

Sydney gave him a friendly elbow in the ribs. 'It's body paint,' she informed Claudia. 'And they don't wear it with anything else!'

'Ooooooh! Sexy! I could do that to look! Maybe I should come with you…'

But there was no time for any changes of plan. Tidlius, if nobody else, was impatient to get moving. He 'mooed' and flapped his wings until Sydney and Nigel, having exchanged yet more tearful hugs with Claudia and Plutus, climbed together onto his back.

'To the Kingdom of Hedenwulf, then!' commanded Sydney. 'Let's find out, for once and for all, if you really are a prince!'

'I am, worse luck,' sighed Nigel. 'And let's not stay there too long. I'll only end up trying to revive my demigod powers to help me beat up my brother – and he makes me so angry I'd be liable to bring about the end of the world!'

'It's a deal,' grinned Sydney. 'I got bored of living in the same place anyway. Now I've got the world to explore with you - and there are _so_ many relics to retrieve from the jaws of destruction! We can move with the seasons and head south for the winter; see all our friends and always be together.'

'It sounds like the Summerlands,' smiled Nigel, 'well, actually, it sounds better!'

'Better even that the Elysian Fields,' she laughed softly and hugged him tightly. 'Let's go there now.'

Tidlius didn't need telling twice and, with a 'moo' of delight, he soared into the air, directly towards the dappled, pink sunset. Then, with a single flap of his mighty wings, he swerved towards the darkening clouds, on course for the frozen lands of the North.

T H E – E N D

**Thanks so much for sticking with me all this way. Go on, please review ;)**


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